Punchlines
by Posey Lee
Summary: Beauty and the Beast may not cure a broken heart, but a surprise trip to Japan for answers might. MM. Takes place right after Princess on the Brink, pre-PD vol. 9 and 10.
1. Chapter 1

**Punchlines**

Disclaimer: Mia & Co. belong to Meg Cabot, just as I belongs to Jesus and my momma.

Summary: Beauty and the Beast may not cure a broken heart, but a surprise trip to Japan for answers might. MM.

**A/N:** Also partly inspired by _Bridget Jones' Diary_ by Helen Fielding.

Fic takes place right after _Princess on the Brink_, cool?

**Friday, September 10, 7:45 pm, loft.**

There are plenty of people in worse shoes than I am – right, totally. Aids orphans. People with cancer. Nicole Richie's baby. Anna Nicole's baby. Justin from American Idol. Britney Spears' hair. I mean, _come on_. It could be a lot _worse_. I could have no drinking water, painful pus-filled boils on my skin, some kind of spine disorder like maybe that girl Deenie (from Beverly Cleary's book). I could be a leper in the Biblical times before Jesus went around healing people. I could also be one of the orphans that Brangelina could have chosen – were so _close_ to choosing – but didn't, and instead went for Maddox or something, and bought him lots of gel for his trendy chic Mohawk. Think about it. Think about how psychologically damaging that is to a kid. That kid would be known as the Almost-Child of Brangelina forever, and would be scarred by the experience and have such low self-esteem that he would grow up and live in a ditch in the forest, until somebody found his body eaten by some dingos. And then there'd also be a note for Brangelina that if they opened it and read it, he'd come from the inside of their toilet and kill each of the members (I'm thinking by then they might have adopted around 40 kids) Jolie-Pitt clan.

(Stole idea from plotline of The Ring with a few minor alterations, but I think my version's more believable, seeing as how a girl who died eons ago by falling into a well couldn't possibly have been caught on tape… the whole concept is just ludicrous. Then again, people thought Nintendo was ludicrous, so maybe the Japs have something going here. I don't care. I've never watched it. Am too scared of freaky girl.)

See?

I'm not so bad.

So I messed up. So Michael is probably in the airplane right now wishing he'd never met me. So Lilly hates my guts and will probably publicly humiliate me in some later course in my life. So maybe seeing Beauty in the Beast with JP is looking like an incredibly dumb idea, seeing as how dancing tea cakes and soaring musical scores will probably not be enough to distract me from the current state of distress in my life, nor will it distract me from my own pity party. I will probably burst into tears in the first ten minutes because of my misery, and then lie to JP about how I'm crying only because it is so beautiful, and not because I have utterly fucked up and will probably resort to trying to drown myself in the bathtub and failing, miserably, just like how I have at life.

Maybe I should go to church, and ask for forgiveness, and somehow all of the wrongs that I have bestowed upon human kind will be fixed – not miraculously, duh, but I'd have to work at it. Maybe Jesus will come down in a golden cloud from heaven and smack some sense into me – ooh, that's a very good idea. Then he'd say, in a booming voice, "Thou shalt no longer dwell in thy stupidity" and I will be quickly healed from the Satanic forces of stupidity and somehow get Michael to fall in love with me again.

Damn. Mom would never let me go to church.

Wonder if Lars is religious. Probably not, seeing as how he buys guns and probably fantasizes about actually using them one day.

Wonder if Grandmere knows the Pope. Maybe he can pour some holy water on me.

Will now call JP and say that I cannot go to Beauty and the Beast with him. Will leave out part about my impending suspicion of breaking down into tears during the first ten minutes. Am thinking about maybe asking him where the nearest church is.

**7:55 pm.**

Couldn't do it. Instead grabbed Fat Louie and snuggled. Cried a little bit and got his fur wet and he got mad and scratched the side of my face.

I am sure now. Whole world hates me.

**8:15 pm.**

I wish I could eat a sock.

**8:25 pm.**

JP's here. I can hear him talking to my parents downstairs. Should hurry. Look like crap, have no desire to try and fix it. Have heard of philosophy that if you look like crap, you must feel like crap – which is true. Really, really true. Am thinking of wearing hoodie to play – no longer have hair (DAMN! WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THIS BEFORE I CUT IT?) to hide behind.

Hoodie it is.

**8:27 pm.**

Mom told me to go back up and choose another coat, not hoodie, since going to prestigious New York playhouse and a Princess wearing hoodies would be frowned upon (also pointed out that it wasn't even a fancy hoody with sparkles or bows or satin). Have niggling suspicion Grandmere has gotten one of her witch doctors or wizards or whatever to brew a potion and fed it to my mom by putting it into her Ethos water.

Will hide hoodie behind back, which I will then sneakily hand to Lars, and he will stash it in the inside of his Matrix-y leather jacket for me.

Brilliant plan for a girl who feels remarkably like crap.

**9:15 pm, bathroom of Metropolitan Playhouse.**

Am in bathroom, and was totally right about my suspicion of bursting into tears once the raggedy townspeople swept in and started to sing with Belle. It was horrible – not the play (the play's fantastic), but the feeling I got in my stomach. Somehow I feel like I am NOT supposed to be here trying to DISTRACT myself so I can FEEL good because IT IS ALL MY FAULT.

GET ME SOME HOLY WATER, DAMNIT.

So I started to tear up once the baker with the bread started to do his operatic voice thing, and then I started sniffling – which I really did hope would go undetected and nobody would hear it, since people were singing and this was a musical and all – which I guess JP noticed, because he was sitting beside me. He glanced at me with this concerned look on his face, and I felt even worse, because I was totally ruining the Beauty and the Beast musical experience for him by trying to keep my stupid snot up my nose and keep it from coming down.

"Mia," he whispered, leaning over. "Are you okay?"

"Uh huh," I said, biting my lip, nodding. "It's just… so great, you know, this musical. It reminds me of my dad."

LIE. IT REMINDS ME OF MICHAEL. DON'T ASK WHY; MICHAEL HAD NEVER HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE MUSICAL BEFORE TONIGHT.

I _swear_ I could look at a chewed up piece of hotdog on the street and start tearing up because it reminded me of Michael, which goes to prove that I am simply insane, or simply just too heartbroken. Half-eaten pieces of hotdog on the dirty streets of New York was never supposed to remind me of Michael. The two are _completely_ different.

"Do you miss your dad?"

"No, not really. Why?"

He looked confused. "Well, because, Mia, you're—"

Oh, right. I was crying. Duh. How could I forget, when I was still trying to snort the snot back up my nasal passages?

"Right," I said quickly. "I just… I think I caught something. A cold. I took a shower last night, and I had the fan on – don't ask, Fat Louie likes it when the fan's on. I think I need a tissue. I think I need to go to the bathroom."

So I'm in the bathroom. I washed my face and all that (have pimple on chin, damn) and tried to calm myself down. Lars is waiting on the settee outside, probably texting on his sidekick or browsing the internet for more guns or something. I'm pretty sure Lars knows my whole situation; he kept giving me these looks while we were walking here, kind of like the look that a Dad gets when he's the only one home when his daughter first gets her period, meshed with the look of pity. He patted my shoulder (but it was awkward – I get the feeling Lars isn't much of a touchy-feely guy, which I understand, I mean, look at him, dressed in black leather jackets in his six foot frame with guns) and mumbled something about how things are going to work out, and that's when I started crying even more. This alarmed him.

"How can you say that?" I wailed. "How could you _possibly_ say that? Did Grandmere's _astrologist_ tell you that?"

Lars looked taken aback. Surprising how he's had very little experience with dealing with distressed, crying teenage girls. Maybe I haven't cried in front of him enough.

"Princess," he said, a little tense. He looked around. "It is common knowledge that—"

"That what?" I snapped. "It's common knowledge that Michael Jackson is black, isn't it? It's also common knowledge that Tom Cruise is crazy. So, really, it doesn't make me feel better, this whole 'It's common knowledge' crap."

Ouch. I admit this was mean. But to be honest I was feeling really bitchy, seeing as how I still had no tissue (I was sniffling like Lindsay Lohan with some coke by this time) and I really just wanted to go to the bathroom and maybe sit by myself underneath the chandelier for ten minutes and maybe vent.

Or sulk, more like.

Sulking. With the candied mints in the crystal bowl beside me, beside the fresh flowers, and the other fancy ribbon toiletries.

I'm gonna apologize to Lars when I get out. It wasn't his fault that I totally screwed myself over like this – not even remotely – and it wasn't fair for me to throw a bitchfit like that in the hall. Poor Lars. It isn't his fault the girl he's been hired to look after is a total basketcase who caught a bad case of the Stupiditis. God. Kill me now.

Michael.

Suddenly wonder if he's read my message yet.

Suddenly want to throw up.

Suddenly burst into tears again.

No, no, I've got to be strong. Strong woman. Come on. You know Kathleen Hanna from Le Tigre and Bikini Kill. Channel your inner Kathleen Hanna. Channel inner strong feminist that believes that you don't need a man to make you happy. You don't need Michael to make you happy. You don't need Michael to feel complete. You must never ever let a man… get you attached to the smell of his neck… I am so _screwed_…. GARGH!

Need more tissue. God.

Feel really pathetic, yet it is something I cannot help. Am consumed by self-loathing and misery and depression.

More candied mints. Hopefully the more I eat the more the taste will block out my emotions.

I really wanna hunt him down. I really, _really_ do. I feel like it's a damn mistake to apologize to him via email, because really that's not the way to go, but what could I do? I missed him at the airport. He'd already left. It wasn't like I could have sent a pigeon with my note of apology attached to its leg, or an owl like they do in Harry Potter (God, though, that would be so neat). What I would do to apologize to him in person. Maybe… maybe I can get Dad to buy me a plane ticket to Japan so I can look for him. I'll take Lars. I just really, desperately need to get this straightened out.

Feel lurch in stomach.

Means it's a good plan.

Right?

Oh, Lars is knocking. He's asking if I'm okay. Try to compose self and stop sniffles so I can get back to Beauty and the Beast, all the while trying to work out kinks in Fly to Japan and Talk to Michael plan. Sorry, Belle, and Beast. There are more important matters at hand, like my heart.

Will stash some candied mints in pocket for later.

**11 pm, the loft.**

Haven't ironed out _all_ the kinks in plan yet. After the play I met and talked to JP's parents, and they were nice, friendly people. Very cool parents, I really have to say, and they even invited me up to their fancy place one night for dinner. To be honest half of me was still furiously trying to think of how to talk to Michael, so I was pretty absentminded, I didn't realize that I had agreed to having dinner with them until later on, when Lars was clearing his throat beside me.

"Huh?" I asked.

"Next Friday night, then?" JP's mom asked sweetly. "Unless you have to ask your mom—"

"Oh, um, sure, Sunday night," I said. "I'm sure it's fine. Thank you."

"No, no, it'd be a pleasure to have you. JP's told us so much about you. He says you're the sweetest girl." She winked at JP. He rolled his eyes, but I noticed when he looked away that his cheeks were a little red.

I laughed weakly. "Oh."

We said goodbye and JP walked me to the car with Lars. I'd started to eat the candied mints in my pocket again.

"Sorry about that," he said. "My mom… she's…"

"Don't worry about it," I said, waving it off. "Moms, you know. It'd be weird if they weren't like that."

JP perked up. "Right." He laughed. "Right. Well, I'm really glad you can come to dinner on Friday."

"Me too," I said.

We reached the car. Lars gave me a nod before he got in.

"Listen," I said, "thanks for this. This was… really nice of you."

He shrugged. "No problem. We both needed it, Mia."

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Did it work?"

"Did what work?"

"The play. Beauty in the Beast. You know. Did it get your mind off… Michael?"

I felt a sting in my chest. "Um. A little."

I didn't feel guilty about lying to JP about this because the truth was way worse – the fact that I'd thought about Michael the entire time I'd sat there, and had been concocting the plan of going to Japan to see him. It was the exact opposite of what JP had intended, and that made me feel horrible inside, but I knew there was nothing I could do. Things were unfinished. They'd ended (God, that _word, _like searing blades to the skin) too quick.

That's it.

Things just weren't finished.

Michael had left without a word, with our entire relationship left hanging in the air. I think I owed it to us, if not to myself, to try to find out exactly what was happening.

"A little," JP echoed. He looked at me seriously. "So it didn't work, then?"

I sighed in the horribleness of my character. Great. Bad liar. Bad friend. Bad girlfriend. Bad person in general.

I lose at life, don't I?

"I'm sorry," I said. The smell of New York in the summer – asphalt, smoke – was starting to get to me. "I'm really sorry, JP. It's just… things were different, you know, between me and Michael than how they were with you and Lilly."

He nodded, but he was looking down. "I understand."

"Yeah," I breathed.

"So what're you gonna do, then? About Michael?"

I smiled. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the best smile – it was kind of a cracked smile, really. "Well, right now I'm thinking of kidnapping him, holding him in a room with no doors and windows, and keeping him there until he falls in love with me again. In a straitjacket, of course. I figure I've got to be a _little_ morbid, since I am royalty and all. It's tradition to be a little freaky."

"I don't think your problem is making people in love with you, Mia."

I looked at him, a little stunned. I know JP's sweet and all, but there was just something… _weird_ about how he said that. And the way I caught him looking at me – it gave me chills, chills that I didn't like – before he looked away, his hands shoved in his pockets, made me wonder if… if… no, that couldn't possibly…

Boy. Call me Mia Thermopolis, _CRAZY_ PRINCESS OF FRICKIN' GENOVIA.

Yeah. No. That wasn't an option.

It just wasn't possible. It was just – crazy, crazy.

"I mean," he said, clearing his throat, "you know, I bet he still loves you."

"Yeah," I said, a little hesitant with what just happened. "I hope so. But I'm not sure I would love myself so much after… after what I did."

"It was a mistake, Mia. He shouldn't hold that against you."

"Michael's human, JP."

"Yeah, well, so are you." He seemed a little angry. "I mean, first he tries to impose the Waiting Game on your while he goes off doing God Knows What in Japan – he has no right to be pissed at you for a stupid little kiss, you know, it's just… I mean, isn't Michael in _college_?" he said heatedly, squinting at me. "You'd think, since he's a college boy—"

"Whoa, JP," I said, stopping him, feeling very uncomfortable with what he was saying, "calm down. Look, I – this was nice, okay? Thank you. I mean it. It did make me feel better, honest, but I gotta go, Lars is gonna start to change the CD in the car, so I gotta—"

"Go," he finished. "Right. Goodnight, Mia. See you at school."

"See you," I said. I gave him a quick hug before I got in the car. As we drove past, JP waved and I waved back, smiling, until I couldn't see him anymore and I slumped into my seat, sighing heavily.

I am way too scared and freaked to write down what I thought when JP was going on and on about Michael the way he was. It'd just be utter and complete madness.

Wonder if they prescribe crazy pills in addition to pills that cure a broken heart.

**Saturday, September 11, 10 am, the Loft.**

Major memorial service and tribute to 9-11 victims on news channels. Had moment of silence for the fallen before Rocky woke up and started crying and shattered solemn remembrance. Was depressed watching CNN while eating breakfast and seeing George Bush on TV giving speech. Mom covered Rocky's ears and started to swear at the TV and Mr. Gianini shook his head, saying "Helen" in that way he always does when my mom does something he doesn't necessarily approve of, and she just snapped at him, saying, "We have an idiot for a president. Are you defending him?"

"Just – not in front of the baby," he said.

"I covered his ears. And, besides, it'd be nice if he picked this up early in his life, you know, knowing which politicians are scum and being vocal about it."

"Helen, all politicians are scum. They're politicians."

"But some more than others."

True. Very true.

They talked some more, with Mr. Gianini shaking his head and telling her to calm down about politics ("It's the anniversary for 9-11, for heaven's sake," he said, and Mom said, "All the more reason to say what I'm saying, then!") when I left to go up to my room. Went on internet to research flight dates to Japan. Prices pretty steep from New York. Crap. Major problem. Am still pretty damn broke.

How will I convince Dad to let me fly to Japan?

Why can't I use his private jet again?

Will ask later.

Will be honest, though, this plan of mine has given me motivation to get up in the morning. Even Mom and Mr. Gianini were surprised to see me coming out of my room – they were both all like, "Oh, Mia. We didn't think you'd…"

Yeah, I didn't think I would, either, UNTIL I FOUND A BEACON OF HOPE.

CANCEL THAT ORDER OF HOLY WATER, BUB.

MAYBE I _DON'T_ LOSE AT LIFE. MAYBE THIS WAS THE CHANCE FOR ME TO _WIN_ AGAIN.

They'd probably gotten used to me sleeping in and staying in my room all day crying about Michael (even watching my season DVDs of Buffy wouldn't help)(I even tried watching the sex scenes with Spike and Buffy – made everything worse, seeing as how… well, you know, the sex thing) and then dragging my feet with a solemn, zombie-like disposition if I ever needed hydration or needed to pee.

Okay, gotta concentrate. _Really_ have to concentrate, if I'm gonna make this plan work anytime soon. Hope Michael has not gotten with some pretty Japanese geisha girl (OH GOD) in the span of a week. I HAVE TO MAKE THIS WORK, HAVETOHAVETOHAVETOHAVETO. AND FAST.

Maybe I'll have to buy a samurai sword once I get there, so if Michael had gotten with a geisha girl I could totally take her on, like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill. Will also consider buying yellow Adidas jumpsuit. Bet that would make Michael fall in love with me all over again.

Okay.

OKAY.

WILL CONCENTRATE NOW.

**12:30 pm.**

Oh no. Was concentrating so hard I feel asleep.

**LIFE VS. MIA TALLY**

**LIFE**: IIIII IIIII IIIII IIII

**MIA**: I (My plan).

My ass is getting kicked left, right, up, down, and diagonally.

Oh yay.

**12:45 pm.**

Totally forgot I had princess lessons today. (DAMN.) Mom popped head in saying that Grandmere had just called and yelled at her asking why the hell I wasn't there yet.

"Mom," I said, my forehead against the wood of my desk, "doesn't Grandmere have any respect for the fallen of the 9-11 attacks?"

My mom laughed. Actually, she cackled. Rocky, who was in her arms, giggled.

"Oh, Mia. Oh, you're being serious. No. No, she doesn't."

"Can you please tell her to turn on the TV and see how the state of New York is taking this day seriously, so that she may comprehend why I MUST take a break from princess lessons today?"

"Mia, I don't think that's going to work. She was pretty adamant about—"

"WHAT ABOUT THE FACT THAT MY HEART IS COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY BROKEN?! HOW ABOUT _THAT_?!"

I started to cry again. Oh great.

One more tally under Life.

ARE YOU _HAPPY_, _LIFE_?! WHY MUST YOU BE SO CRUEL TO KICK A WOMAN ALREADY DOWN?!

"Oh, honey," my mom said. She was about to come in when she realized she had Rocky. "Frank!" she yelled. "FRANK! COME GET THE BABY!"

Mr. Gianini popped around and took Rocky, giving my Mom a look (which my Mom then glanced at me for, and he nodded before taking Rocky into the living room) before she came in. She silently closed the door behind her, before she walked over to my bed, sitting down. She looked intently at me.

"Mia."

I sniffed. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "Helen."

"Look, I know you love Michael. I know he's like the… the sun to your flower, or something like that."

I cringed. "Oh Mom," I groaned. "Please don't try to explain this in metaphors, okay? I'm still scarred from when you tried to explain the birds and the bees to me."

"All right, fine. Thing is, Mia, I know you're hurting right now and you're allowed that. But the whole world doesn't have to stop just because he… just because things didn't work out between you two," she mended.

"I know," I said, "but… Oh Mom, you just don't understand—"

"I don't understand?" she scoffed. "Mia, I've had my share of break-ups, too."

"But that's the thing!" I shouted. "We _didn't_ break up! He just – left! He just _left_! And I don't know whether we _are_ broken up are not – God I sure hope not – and I sent him an email saying I was sorry, because I wasn't able to catch him at the airport… Mom…" I wiped my tears. "What if he thinks I meant it? That I _meant_ to kiss JP?"

She sighed. "I don't know, Mia. I don't know. But Michael's a smart boy, I'm sure…" but she trailed off, because it was obvious she wasn't so sure about that as she'd originally thought.

"Mom, I have to see him."

She froze. Then her face got stern and stricken. "_Mia Thermopolis_, if you are thinking about running after that boy—"

"But Mom, what if Mr. Gianini was going away to Japan for an undecided amount of time, and he'd just caught you kissing this other guy, except you hadn't really _meant_ to kiss him, it just happened—"

"_No_," she said firmly. "No. Do you understand me?"

"But Lars would be coming with me—"

"Mia, you are a _teenage girl_. You have no business jumping into planes and chasing after college boys—"

"This isn't just a college boy, this is _Michael_—"

"Which makes all the more reason for you _not_ to go! Michael is a very reasonable boy, I'm sure—"

Frustrated, I put my head back down on the desk. I was crying again.

LIFE: IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII

MIA: 0 (since plan squashed by OVERBEARING MOTHER.)

I couldn't believe even my own _mom_ couldn't understand why I had to do this. It just seemed _too cruel_. If anyone, I would have expected her to understand. Suddenly feel as if in fascist eastern European country with no freedom and certainly no love.

For the first time in my life, I feel genuinely alone, and it feels… completely terrible.

God.

Just lock me in a dank, rotting Genovian prison, why don't you?

So I'm there crying all over my desk, and next thing I know my mom's rubbing my back and trying to comfort me, saying everything was gonna be okay… I _HATE_ THAT. HOW CAN EVERYTHING POSSIBLY BE _OKAY_, WHEN YOU'RE NOT EVEN LETTING YOUR DAUGHTER WHO LOVES HER BOYFRIEND WITH EVERY INCH OF HER BEING GO AFTER HIM AND TRY TO EXPLAIN BEFORE HE MAKES A MISTAKE BY SLEEPING WITH A GEISHA GIRL?!

AND HOW COULD I _POSSIBLY_ FIGHT SAID GEISHA GIRL OFF WITH MY TOTALLY BITCHIN' YELLOW JUMPSUIT AND SAMURAI SWORD UMA THURMAN-STYLE IF I _AM NOT THERE TO DO IT_??????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I swear, people tell me all the time that I have incredibly cool parents, especially my mom, since she is this crazy feminist artist lady. They seem to forget that she is still a mom, and sometimes even the coolest mom cannot escape the fact that they are still MOMS and that sometimes MOMS SUCK.

**12:55 pm.**

Am too depressed to go to princess lessons. Tell Mom this. Mom gives me pitying look before telling me that either I go, or Grandmere comes over, and if Grandmere comes over, Mom will take away my allowance.

HOW CRUEL.

THIS SHOULD BE CONSIDERED A CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY.

**1:07 pm.**

Am too depressed to go to princess lessons. Was gagged and tied up and forced into car. Glaring at Lars. Lars pretends not to see from mirror. Lars sings along to Kelly Clarkson to try and cheer me up. Does. Not. Work.

LIFE: IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII

MIA: 0

**1:20 pm.**

Here at lobby at Hotel. Uh oh. Must be bad if Grandmere is actually waiting for me with Rommel, smoking and drinking, looking at me narrowly with her eyes and tattooed eyebrows.

"Amelia, a princess is never late," she says scathingly to me, setting down her Sidecar. She shoos Rommel off.

"Yeah, well, people are," I say begrudgingly. "And I'm a person too, Grandmere. More than I am a princess."

Though I really doubt Grandmere is a person, underneath all of that make-up and Chanel.

"Do I sense an attitude?" she says to me. "Amelia, you look me in the eye when you are talking to me."

I look her in the eye. "LOOK. GRANDMERE. I. AM. NOT. IN. A. GOOD. MOOD. TODAY. TODAY. IS. THE. HORRIBLE. ANNIVERSARY. OF. A. HORRIBLE. INCIDENT. IN. THE. STATE. OF. NEW. YORK. AS. WELL. AS. THE. COUNTRY. OF. AMERICA. WHICH. OBVIOUSLY. YOU. DO. NOT. CARE. ABOUT –"

"Oh, you mean all the hubbub on the television," she said, waving it off. "Amelia, more tragic things have happened. Have you seen what the Princess of Monte Carlo wore to the Queen of England's 65th birthday?"

GOD! THE _INHUMANITY_ OF THIS WOMAN! I SWEAR! WHAT IS SHE, THE LOCHNESS MONSTER? SASQUATCH? "IT CAME FROM THE DEEP"?! WHATEVER SHE IS, SHE APPARENTLY STORES COAL IN HER CHEST INSTEAD OF A LIVE, FUNCTIONING HEART!

"GRAND_MERE_."

"Amelia, don't you take that tone with me. You are beginning to sound like your mother, and let me tell you something, young lady, she is _not_ somebody you want to sound like." She took another drink. "It is not very appealing for a princess to—"

Honest to God, it really seems like being a princess is a completely different type of species, and IT REALLY SUCKS. Next thing you know she's gonna be building concentration camps and killing little girls who write in diaries—

OH MY GOD. LIKE _ME_.

Grandmere is the SS and I am Anne Frank!

OH MY GOD!

Except, well. Anne is a way better person than I am, and I in no way even deserve comparing myself to her, since I am a HORRIBLE PERSON and she is this Jewish hero girl for the Jews and the entire world.

"Well, I don't know if you got the memo, Grandmere, but I don't exactly have the fondest wishes to _be_ a princess – actually, I'd rather much like to be treated as a human being instead of _that_," I snapped, falling a bit weak at the end. Damn. Must work on effective communication skills.

And instead of shooting some highbrow quip my way, she stopped jingling around the ice in her sidecar and just looked at me. Totally still. She just looked at me.

"Well, Amelia, I see this situation of yours has jammed an even larger stick up your behind than I thought," she said amusedly.

"What situation?" I harshly retorted, because I don't imagine Grandmere would have even the slightest clue about what had happened to me –about Michael and about JP and everything – because like I said, Grandmere isn't like most grandmas, she is malicious and cruel and smells like pepper and smoke and alcohol and disrespects American tragedies.

"Your father has filled me in a little bit on what has been going on," she said, and I blinked at her. She stood up, leaving her drink there. "Well, come on, Amelia. Let's go to the room."

"_What_?" I said, her words still jumbling around in my mind like the ice in her sidecar.

She didn't turn around and just kept walking. "We're going to talk."

**Please review! Next chapter coming soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

Punchlines

**A/N:** Yes, Mia is a big fat whiner, isn't she? It almost _scares_ me to write a Princess Diaries fic.

**Chapter 2**

"Well, Amelia?" she said, after making another sidecar and sitting down on the elegant armchair in front of me. "Sit down. What are you waiting for? Would you like me to help you sit down? In your silly little frivolous activities have you somehow managed to injure your buttocks, is that it?"

I sit down, scowling at her.

Oh har har har, I injured my butt, har har.

"And now you look like sour milk," she remarked dryly. "Good look, Amelia."

"What did you say about my dad?" I demanded.

"Your father has filled me in on your… teenage drama."

"_What_?"

EXCUSE ME, DO I _NOT_ HAVE ANY PRIVACY ANYMORE?!

"Don't act so scandalized, honestly, girl," Grandmere snapped. "You act as if your life is private."

"Well, _isn't it_?"

"Oh Lord no!" she laughed. "Amelia, you're a _celebrity_. Even more, you're a _royal_. There's no such thing as privacy. Might as well chuck out the word from your vocabulary now to save you the confusion."

Great. Whole world will now know sad tale of wee little Princess Mia of wee little European principality Genovia who was not able to fight off Geisha mistress of boyfriend she so desperately loved because she was not allowed to go to Japan to do it.

Discovered there was no point of keeping LIFE VS. MIA tally anymore, seeing as how Life is so far ahead of me I will never catch up in time, even if I manage to save the last polar bear from extinction.

She must have seen the ghastly look on my face because when Rommel started to bark she shooed him away and snapped at me. "Oh, Amelia. You _idiot_."

Fantastic. Even Grandmere thinks so. Now the whole world thinks I'm an idiot (well, guess it's a bonafide fact now, then, since everybody thinks it… what makes something a fact, anyway? Am thinking that would be the best way) except maybe the Portuguese children in Portugal who don't know who I am, but I bet they know it SUBCONSCIOUSLY, in the back lobes of their brain or something.

Thing is, though, I didn't know _why_ she was calling me an idiot – because she supposedly "knew" about my situation and she was talking about Michael, or because I didn't know about the whole privacy thing – well, okay, I _did_, but I kinda forgot. WHICH ISN'T MY FAULT. IT'S EASY TO FORGET THINGS LIKE THAT WHEN YOU ARE STILL TRYING TO GET YOUR PLAN OF DEFEATING-THE-EVIL-GEISHA-MISTRESS-KILL-BILL-STYLE-AND-RETRIEVE-BOYFRIEND TO TAKE OFF!!

"Wait," I say, glancing down at Rommel, who I could've really sworn is really just an enlarged naked rat and was just sold as a dog by way of deception to make more money. "Why am I an idiot?"

"Why do you _think_? Honestly, Amelia, I've been talking to your father about what they teach in that blasted school of yours – obviously they aren't doing a very good _job_, and I've been telling him that it'd be far better if you were home-tutored. You could have the same tutor as Prince William; I hear he's satisfactory for the royals."

"Grandmere," I said, "WHY. AM. I. AN. IDIOT."

Best response would be that I was an idiot just because I was born.

She gave me this scathing look. "For crying over _that boy_."

"_God_!" I said, throwing my hands up in the air. "Don't know if you've _noticed_, _Grandmere_, but not everybody's made of _ice_ around here, all right? Not everybody has a metal bucket filled with maggots instead of a heart!"

"_Amelia_!" she blurted angrily.

"It's true!" I went on. "I don't know where you got this _stupid_, terrible idea that I am not supposed to cry over the boy I've loved since the day I was born—"

"Now that's just silly, you cannot have loved _that boy_ since the day you were _born_, you didn't even know him—"

"—and now I've gone and screwed everything up, he's probably looking for some fresh geisha meat to do – well, the _deed_, with him! And that's all fine, but I _LOVE HIM_! HAVE YOU EVER LOVED SOMEBODY THIS MUCH, GRANDMERE?! HAVE YOU?! _WELL_?!"

"You _mean_," she said tersely, "have I ever loved anyone that much that I was turned into a stupid, pathetic _girl_ and made me forget all of my royal duties to my country and to my people?"

"I—" There was no way I was gonna win this, was there? "—Yes," I finished lamely.

"Amelia, you act as if he is the only boy you are ever going to love," she said, her eyebrow twitching, which meant that she was really annoyed with me. "You are a _teenage girl_, and unless you are assassinated in some parade in Sarajevo that will inevitably start up a World War, I hardly think you ought to think of it as the end of your life."

Now, those were actually some very smart words from Grandmere – shocking, really, since all I figured she was ever capable of saying were aloof, fascist-type mantras – and I found myself staring at her for several moments. But I didn't really _take it in_ – HOW _COULD _I?! WHEN YOU ARE _THIS SET_ ON SOMETHING YOU WANT TO DO, WILL YOU LISTEN TO PEOPLE WHO ARE TELLING YOU _NOT TO DO IT_??!!

YOU SURE AS HELL WILL _NOT_!!!!!

But what I'm saying is, if I had been of sound mind, I might have appreciated what she was saying and have actually taken a few seconds to let it reach the core of my brain and maybe stash it somewhere meaningful to repeat it to my future distraught teenage daughter, though I doubt she will ever be in the same situation with geisha mistresses and my almost obscene desire to Kill Bill it out with her. But I really didn't. I heard it but it went out the other ear almost immediately. It was amazing, really.

"That's not the point!" I started to yell again.

"My God, Amelia, will you keep your voice down?" she said, when Rommel started to bark again.

I had jumped up and was now pacing in front of her, wanting to pull my hair out, but I didn't, because I already had so little hair as it is. I tried to comprehend what would make her understand – my appeal to the heart was a lost cause, seeing as how (WELL, I KNEW IT BEFORE ANYWAY, DON'T KNOW WHY I WAS SO SURPRISED) Grandmere HAS NO HEART (don't think anybody else around here has one, either, when I think about it), so I tried to appeal to… well, _Grandmere_.

"What happens if the press and the media find out?" I asked her, and she noticeably stiffened. "That I was not allowed to go to Japan and go after my boyfriend and now he's going around with a geisha who has undoubtedly already lost her precious gift like when she was _nine_—"

"Nice try, Amelia," she said darkly.

"No, seriously," I said, "what if they find out? Won't they make you look _bad_?"

It was pretty horrible and kinda scary, this technique I was using. It was almost very _Grandmere_ of me – oooh, I just shuddered. Which is probably what made her so mad. But I still don't understand why she called up Lars to escort me out of her hotel room – I mean, it wasn't like I pulled a Tom Cruise on her couch or anything. Maybe she saw the striking resemblance (GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) between me and her and she got spooked.

When I was just leaving, though, with Lars giving me this look (I think he thought I tried to strangle Grandmere or something or poison her sidecar – all I can say is: I WISH), she was mumbling something to herself while she was smoking.

"All of the sensible royals are dying out, and now we're left with _this_ kind…"

GEE, THANKS GRANDMERE.

GOD. I WISH PRINCESS DI WAS STILL ALIVE. I WISH _SHE_ COULD'VE BEEN MY GRANDMA. I BET SHE SO WOULD HAVE TOTALLY LET ME GO AFTER MICHAEL IN OUR PRIVATE JET AND EVEN WOULD HAVE TOTALLY SUPPORTED ME GOING ALL KILL BILL ON HIS GEISHA MISTRESS…

Ugh. If wishes were ponies.

**2 pm, the car.**

Ugh. Am so depressed. Want to stick head outside of window. I mean, jump out of window. God. See? Am so depressed can't even write sentences correctly to express what I mean.

WHY DOES THE WORLD HATE ME SO MUCH????????????????

**2:05 pm.**

SERIOUSLY????????

WHY???????????????

Suddenly feel like Harry Potter trapped in cupboard with oppressive, vile Muggle relatives and obese jerkhole cousin. No, worse. I have no Hermione and Ron. Well, once upon a time my Hermione might have been Lilly – they seem to match pretty well, don't they? Oooh! Oooh! And Ron _could_ have been JP… And seeing as how Ron and Hermione obviously have this little thing for each other… except JP doesn't like Lilly that way… Oh, darn… and Lilly hates me… bet Hermione would have never hated Harry this way, since Harry was like the freakin' savior of the wizarding world and all that.

VOLDEMORT GRANDMERE

AUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**2:11 pm**

God, I wish I had an owl like Harry Potter. I bet it could chase down Michael.

**2:45 pm, at the Loft.**

Am thinking of killing self by way of sticking head in oven like Sylvia Plath to bring extra grief to all who are oppressing me. Hope guilt brings them to edge of insanity. Hope interview on Barbara Walters or Larry King will break their souls of NOTHINGNESS and get them to admit IT WAS ALL THEIR FAULT.

**3:20 pm.**

This day sucks.

But just remembered that though I went to Grandmere's, did NOT actually have princess lessons. Guess that has to count for something.

Oh god. Have homework.

Going off to figure out how to work oven so can resume grief-plan to oppressors.

**3:30 pm.**

Turns out oven has been broken for years and Mom has been using it as storing case for extra canvas and brushes.

OKAY, WORLD. YOU HATE ME. I _GET_ IT.

**3:35 pm.**

I wish I was Oprah. Bet Oprah never had this problem. Bet she has thousands of friends and would never "accidentally" kiss a boy in the hall while her boyfriend was going to surprise her and totally mess up her life and instead is friends with the likes of attractive sexy women of Desperate Housewives and the like and had million-dollar weaves at her disposal.

Maybe I should ask Grandmere if she knows Oprah. Maybe we can be best friends. Me and Oprah, I mean. Not me and Grandmere.

**3:37 pm.**

Just remembered am on sore terms with Grandmere.

Oh well.

What's new?

**REASONS WHY WORLD COULD NOT POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND CURRENT SITUATION WITH MICHAEL**.

1. Never was a flat-chested teenage princess of small European principality with radical best friend (and I don't mean "radical" as in AWESOME, I mean "radical" as in CRAZY like the Frenchies way back when they were so keen on cutting people's heads off and having revolutions… wonder if Lilly is part French… hm… should ask. If we ever make up again, that is) and gorgeous genius boyfriend (who is the older brother of said radical best friend) who apparently lost his virginity to Fly Cloner Judith Gershner (GOD SAYING THAT STILL TWISTS MY INSIDES – PAINFUL DEATHS TO ALL FLY CLONERS!!!!! Or maybe just to Judith Gershner). Oh, and also never had eccentric (AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY), brutal, snobby Dowager Princess grandma seemingly very intent on ruining life.

2. Never had sock-eating cat.

3. WORLD HAS NO HEART. WORLD IS TOO FOCUSED ON QUESTIONING SANITY OF PRESIDENT AND LINDSAY LOHAN IN REHAB, ETC ETC.

4. What the world does not understand, the world hates. And if A equals B equals C, then A equals C, which means the world hates me. (I don't know what the hell I just put down.)

5. Not whole world has met Michael. (Then again, I'm not so sure I want the whole world to, 'cause then all the girls would fall madly in love with him and his great-smelling neck, and he'd easily leave me for them, and presumably more than 3/4s of them would be all too willing to give him their Precious Gift, unlike I am.) (UGH.)

6. Nobody else calls their virginity their Precious Gift. Then again, I'm not too sure everyone else CONSIDERS their virginity so precious, or a gift, seeing as how they just throw it at anyone who wants it. Look at the girls on Lifetime. Or, well, some of them.

**4:05 pm.**

Need a hotdog from the New York City street hot dog vendors. Will be back. Will possibly buy 2 to soothe broken heart and growling stomach (haven't eaten all day – think I ate too much yesterday).

Or possibly 5 billion.

**4:35 pm.**

OH MY GOD.

OH MY GOD.

OH MY GOD.

I DO NOT KNOW WHETHER TO THROW MYSELF A PARTY OR DROWN MYSELF IN THE SINK.

So, I went outside to guy 2 hotdogs, right (well, 3 technically, since Mr. G wanted one, too), and I was dressed in my shorts and my hoodie (oh yeah, incognito). I was just minding my own business, walking to the vendor and then getting in line like a normal citizen of New York City, when all of a sudden I hear this voice. At first I didn't recognize it, so I kinda just stood there thinking, Who is this and why do they sound so familiar? And then I turn around, and OH MY GOD THERE'S JUDITH GERSHNER STANDING BEHIND ME IN A TANKTOP AND SHORT SHORTS, WALKING HER DOG.

OH MY GOD.

THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE.

AND HER DOG.

SINCE WHEN DID JUDITH GERSHNER HAVE A DOG?!

I seriously had a flash of visionary fantasy: dressing Fat Louie up in a yellow Adidas jumpsuit and giving him this mini samurai sword to Kill Bill it out with her dog.

OH MY GOD. MAYBE I SHOUD STOP FOCUSING ALL OF MY KILL BILL ANTICS ON SOME GEISHA GIRL IN JAPAN. MAYBE I SHOULD FOCUS IT ON _JUDITH GERSHNER_. MAYBE THAT IS WHAT THE DIVINE POWERS ARE TRYING TO TELL ME BY HAVING HER STAND BEHIND ME IN LINE.

GOD WANTS ME TO _KILL_ JUDITH GERSHNER.

Well. I got your message, Big Guy.

But anyway, that did not occur to me when I was standing in front of her in line. I turned around while this couple was having trouble deciding whether they wanted mustard and ketchup on their hotdogs (probably out of towners – they had fannypacks) and when I saw her and her dog, I kinda just felt my whole stomach drop and my body go cold. My mind was reeling. It was like I'd forgotten Judith and I had lived on the same planet, let alone the same area code, what with all of the planning and sulking I'd been doing. HOW COULD HAVE I FORGOTTEN JUDITH-WHO-TOOK-MY-BOYFRIEND'S-FLOWER?! _HOW?!_

So it was like a slap in the face, basically. New York City-style. I felt just like Carrie in that one episode in Sex in the City when she sees Big at that Rodeo party with stick figure with no soul Natasha.

And what's worse is that when she saw me her eyebrows kinda went up, and then she smiled at me. SMILED AT ME.

LIKE HOW THE DEVIL WAS SMILING AT JESUS WHEN HE WAS BEING TEMPTED AND TORTURED IN THE DESERT.

"Mia!" she said, like it was a pleasant surprise. "You're… in line for a hotdog." She looked confused by this. "Are they serving tofu hot dogs now, too?"

"_No_," I said, feeling my resentment and bitterness start to creep back up again. In my mind I seemed to be hearing two voices: one that was going, BE NICE, MIA, BE NICE TO JUDITH and the other going: KILL HER, MIA, KILL JUDITH. Personally I liked the last voice better.

GOD if I only had a samurai sword with me right then. I can do without the jumpsuit. But MAN if only I'd had a sword. Maybe I'll ask for one next time Grandmere has me meet with the Royals of Japan, and I'll give them… I don't know, Genovian pears. OR some moon rocks. Bet Japan would like some moon rocks.

You know, all my life, people have told me (mostly teachers) that preparation is key, and that you should always be prepared for whatever life drops on you.

Lesson learned: I will not try to carry a samurai sword (and possibly also yellow jumpsuit) everywhere I go in case I stumble upon any of the following:

- Judith Gershner  
- Animal abusers  
- People who drive SUVs (YOU ARE NOT HELPING GLOBAL WARMING, PEOPLE!!! GRRRRR!!!) or Hummers (unless you are like Arnold Schwarzneggar and have had the engine changed around so it's environmentally friendly).

"Oh." She looked confused. "Are you buying hotdogs for…?"

"Me," I said, feeling indignant. "And Mr. G."

"I thought you were a vegetarian."

"Yeah, well, things change."

She nodded her head. "Oh. Well. Okay." She looked down on her dog – things were a little weird. "So, listen, I know Michael just left for Japan—"

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?! THE UTTER _NERVE_ OF THIS GIRL! I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE HAD THE NERVE TO MENTION MICHAEL TO ME AFTER NONVERBALLY JUDGING ME FOR NOT BEING A VEGETARIAN ANYMORE IN LINE!!! GAAAAAHHHH!!!

SERIOUSLY!! SAMURAI SWORD!!

"Yeah, he did," I said through my teeth. And I guess she noticed how my voice kind of sounded like daggers, because then she gave me this look.

"Whoa. Hey, is everything okay? I think I just got a frostbite."

Now here I was at a crossroad. Should I be honest and in fact, TELL Judith Gershner (who, by the way, had sex with my boyfriend even though she had a boyfriend) that everything was NOT okay– actually, they were so FAR from okay like how the world is so FAR away from fixing any of Africa's problems because of early colonialism – because Michael is probably DOING IT with some Japanese girl because we got into this fight that was all because of HER in the first place?

OR

Should I lie and say that everything was okay, I was just being a bitch because I was on my period, and we ran out of Midol because when my mom got pregnant with Rocky, I proceeded in then throwing away almost every good medication we had in our medicine cabinet in case she mistook them as vitamins and thus harmed the baby?

I did not think this through. Seriously. I did not. The most amazing thing about the human brain is that sometimes it doesn't REALLY allow you to choose any of the options presented to you – you just do it. And not only does it make you incapable of being reasonable at times, it also sometimes only presents the other options (the BETTER OPTIONS) AFTER you'd already done the _other thing_, so it's just useless. Completely and utterly useless.

I.e. my situation with Judith.

It did not really occur to me until later that I could have said something nice and non-dramatic and have walked away with three hotdogs in a peaceful manner.

Instead, it was kinda like I just… burst. Like if you put too much water in a water balloon, and it pops in your face, and you end up getting soaked. Well, I guess Judith got soaked.

(IN THE SWEET JUICES OF MY REVENGE.)

"No, everything is _not_ okay," I said in a perfect Ice Queen tone. "_Nothing_ is okay, all right, Judith? And do you know _why_? Because of you. You and-and, well, YOU!"

She squinted at me. "Pardon?"

OH MY GOD. AS IF THINGS WEREN'T BAD ENOUGH. NOT ONLY DOES JUDITH CLONE FLIES AND HAVE SEX WITH MY BOYFRIEND, SHE ALSO SAYS "PARDON" INSTEAD OF "WHAT"!!!

WHY WASN'T JUDITH CHOSEN AS PRINCESS OF GENOVIA INSTEAD???!!

"Don't 'Pardon' me!" I seethed. "You-you TOOK Michael's Precious Gift!"

She laughed. "His _what_?"

"His precious gift! His VIRGINITY!"

She froze. Then she turned a little red.

"How did you know about that?" she said, glancing around to see if anyone had heard. Well, considering I'd yelled it, a lot of people did, and were looking at us. Especially some Japanese tourists enjoying their quickly-melting ice cream sitting down on a bench waiting for a tour bus.

"Well, I fed Michael this potion and then he proceeded to tell me every single detail of his hidden life."

"Huh?"

"He _told_ me, Judith."

She pursed her lips. Then she sighed. "Look, Mia—"

"Don't 'Look, Mia' me!" I said, yelling again. "How could you _do_ that? You had a _boyfriend_! Just because you're this super-genius that knows how to clone freaking fruit flies does not mean you can go around having sex with people's boyfriends!"

Yep. People were definitely listening now. In fact, one of the Japanese tourists was actually taking pictures. Wonder if they actually knew what I was saying. Hm.

"Well, technically, you and Michael hadn't been going out yet—"

"It doesn't _matter_! How would YOU feel knowing that the first boy you ever loved had given it to-to some _other girl_? That, by the way, lives in the same area as you and you used to see in the hallway _every_day? God, when I found out – I felt like such an _idiot_—"

"Oh, Mia, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Hey!" shouted a voice in front of me.

"_What?"_ I shouted, turning around.

"This is nice and all," said the hot dog vendor guy, "but are you gonna order a hot dog or what?"

"Yes."

"Okay. What'll it be?"

"In _case_ you haven't noticed, I'm having a very important confrontation here—"

"Yeah, well, I'm just doing my job, lady."

"Fine! Give me three hotdogs, okay? No condiments. I have some at home." I turned back around to Judith, who looked as uncomfortable as ever. "As I was _saying_…"

"I'm sorry, Mia," she blurted. "I really am. I really had no idea that things would turn out this way."

"Yeah, well, neither did I," I said acidly. Then we just stared at each other. Until a light bulb popped up in my head, and I heard my voice again. "Are you in love with him?"

She looked shocked. "What?"

"Are you in love with Michael? Or – _were_ you in love with him, at least?"

"Mia, I don't think—"

"Look, you _owe_ me. Just tell me the truth, Judith. Are you – or were you – _in love with him_?"

She looked at me. Then she spoke. "I think there was a time, a long time ago, where I might've had… _feelings_ for him… but they never progressed. We're just _friends_, Mia. And I'm sorry for what we did, and I'm sorry that… well, you had to find out about it. But I'm not in love with Michael. He's all yours. I have a boyfriend, remember?"

"That didn't stop you last time," I muttered.

She heard me. "I guess I deserved that."

"Hey lady, here's your hot dogs."

I turned around and got my three hot dogs, then I turned back around to Judith, who was still a little red. And as I looked at her, I didn't really feel bad at all. I didn't really feel sorry for letting the city of New York know that she'd taken my boyfriend's virginity. To tell you the truth, I felt a little proud of myself – vindicated, almost. On some level I felt like Judith got what she deserved – an enraged princess (now a carnivore) spitting in her face, but really now that I'm home, as thrilled as I am with myself… it doesn't change things. Doesn't change the fact that Michael's in Japan hating my guts; doesn't change the fact that he'd already lost it to Judith. It didn't undo any of the things I wanted so badly to be UNdone.

(DAMN.)

Then again, who was I kidding, right? You can't ever UNdo things that had already been done. Maybe in fanfiction, where someone finds like this time machine or whatever. But not in real life.

But I guess what I'm trying to say is that I took out all my frustration on Judith – about my evil oppressors, about Michael, about Lilly. Sure, she got what she deserved. At least, you know, I didn't step on her dog or anything out of spite, 'cause it was a pretty small dog. But I guess I saw the look on her face when I was leaving, and it really did look like she was sorry. I'm just glad she didn't ask me why it mattered that she took Michael's Precious Gift when it had been before him and I actually ever got together… I think it's just something guys just don't understand, you know? Even one as awesome as Michael.

God. I just felt this painful throb in my heart again.

UGH.

MICHAEL.

What if he thinks I'm giving away my Precious Gift to JP right now? What if he thinks I don't still want to lose it to him? What if he's like, "Oh, screw Mia" and goes and literally screws a geisha girl? Because really, just because I've found out Michael is no longer, in fact, a holder of the V-card and thus allowed access to the V club – that doesn't mean I don't still want to DO IT with him. It was just… a shock, that's all. Whenever I think about it (OH GOD SOMETIMES I REALLY HATE HAVING SUCH A VIVID IMAGINATION) I still feel the vomit rising up my throat.

Oh God.

Still feel it right now.

IT'S JUST SO HARD TO LET GO OF THE FACT THAT JUDITH HAD SEX WITH MICHAEL. SHE _KISSED_ HIM. SHE'S SEEN HIM _WITHOUT_ HIS CLOTHES.

Am still majorly depressed.

Anyway, as I was just leaving (wasn't planning to say anymore to her, seeing as how even though she did say sorry doesn't exactly mean I ACCEPTED her apology), she sort of grabbed my arm as she stepped up to buy a hot dog.

"Listen, Mia," she said, all imploringly. "I hope everything works out okay."

"Yeah," I said, still a bit coldly. "Okay. Thanks."

I wonder if I'll ever be the type to sleep with people even though I have a boyfriend.

I wonder if I'll ever be Judith Gershner.

**5 pm.**

Will never be okay ever again.

Am thinking of writing will then praying I die in my sleep, seeing as how I don't have the guts to actually _kill_ myself.

**MIA THERMOPOLIS' WILL**

** Very specific instructions, please follow accordingly.**  
- Clothes: give away to Goodwill. First let Tina go through closet and see if she wants any of the dresses.  
- Sailor Moon stuffed doll: give to Fat Louie.  
- Crown and tiara: give to charity to SAVE THE POLAR BEARS or STARVING CHILDREN IN 3RD WORLD COUNTRIES (or half and half for each).  
- Journal: GIVE TO MICHAEL, SO THAT HE MAY SEE HOW MUCH I LOVE HIM AND HOW COMPLETELY SORRY I AM FOR DOING WHAT I DID.  
- Buffy DVDs: give to Lilly and/or Michael, if Lilly is still not speaking to me when I die.  
- Carousel musical box: Give to Dad, to remember me by.  
- Doc Martens: give to Rocky. May want to wear them someday (they ARE unisex).  
- CDs: Give to Mom and Mr. G. Give Rilo Kiley and Bikini Kill to Mom, esp.

Note: ANY AND ALL OF THE ITEMS: PLEASE DO NOT SELL ON EBAY CLAIMING THEY ARE ASSOCIATED WITH ME. WILL GIVE YOU MORE TROUBLE THEN YOU WANT. WILL SCARE YOU BY FLICKING TV ON AND OFF AND CRAWL OUT LIKE GIRL FROM THE RING.

- Anything else: Mom will know. Let her decide.

**5:15 pm.**

Just emailed Tina about confrontation with Judith in front of hot dog vendor. Wonder how she will respond. Wonder if she'll think I am worst person ever and reconsider being my friend.

Will I lose all of my friends because of my stupidity?????

Can good luck ever be re-instituted by saving last polar bear from extinction?????

**6 pm.**

Oooh, message back from Tina!

Here's what she said:

MIA!!! OMG!!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE U SAID THAT TO JUDITH GERSHNER!!! OMG!!! U ROCK!!

Because you are so totally right for doing that, Mia, REALLY. I mean, who does she think she is??? What she did was SO NOT ROMANTIC.

Oh, but Mia – WHAT R U GOING TO DO ABOUT MICHAEL?????? I told Boris about what happened (sorry, he wanted to know – he's over right now, and I kept saying OMG over and over again while I was reading your email and he wanted to know why) and he said that while Michael does not seem the type to go around sleeping with geishas, he said that after what you did… well… let's just say I honestly can't believe he's my boyfriend sometimes…

Mia, you've got to FIGHT FOR HIM!!! OR AT LEAST, LET HIM KNOW THAT YOU ARE FIGHTING FOR HIM!!!

LET ME KNOW WHAT HAPPENS, OKAY??

Love,

Tina.

P.S. Boris says Hi.

Oh great. What am I going to do? Michael hasn't even responded back to the message I sent him the first time – am I going to send him yet ANOTHER message with the words: HANG ON MICHAEL, DON'T SLEEP WITH THE PRETTY GEISHA JUST YET, I AM FIGHTING FOR YOU!!!!

Oh yeah, totally true for a girl WHO IS NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO GO TO JAPAN TO CHASE AFTER THE BOY SHE LOVES.

Am thinking about whether I should tell Tina about my plan, but as much as I love Tina, I don't think I should tell ANYBODY. Sure, it'd totally delight her because it's the most romantic thing in the world (she likes it when people chase people in romantic novels/movies – then again, who doesn't?), but I don't know. She might panic in the last minute and tell someone and it could totally ruin everything, and I REALLY DON'T NEED THAT RIGHT NOW.

Okay. Okay. Now it's a sure thing – I'm _going_ to Japan whether anyone likes it or not. I've just got to figure out how I'm going to get a ticket. I'm pretty sure I've got some money in the bank… BUT HOW DO I GET IT? DAMN. DAMN. DAMN.

Will write more later. Am too busy thinking hard. Hopefully thinking hard will not result in brain aneurysm.

**Please Review!** Chapter coming soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So I looked at the date of my last update, and I realized I hadn't updated since 2007! Happy belated 2008 and 2009 people, sorry for the neglect, it wasn't intentional. But I do plan to finish this fic real soon, so stay tuned! I promise the next update won't take another 2 years.

Also, I still haven't read the last PD book, but I did cheat and read the spoilers. Still, I can't wait to give it a read! Nevertheless, spoilers or not, this is totally an MM fic all the way.

**CHAPTER 3**

**Sunday, September 12, 10 am, loft.**

You know how people say that if you feel really remarkably like crap, you should go to sleep? For a really, really long time? And that when you wake up, you'll feel way better, and say to yourself, 'Wow, that really hadn't been a big deal after all, what was I thinking?' and then get on with their happy-go-lucky ways?

YEAH, WELL, PEOPLE _LIE_, OKAY? Maybe there's just something wrong with me (severe heartbreak, broken vegetarian vow, related to fangless dysfunctional monarch with harsh tattooed eyebrows immune, heartless family, shattered friendships, sasquatch-like feet as big as skis, remarkable lack of breast-age in the chest area, etc etc) or maybe this isn't just ONE OF THOSE THINGS that you can sleep off. I'm pretty sure you can't sleep off eczema. Or night terrors. Or cancer. Or Chlamydia. OH MY GOD. IT IS 10 am AND I AM COMPARING MY TRAGIC STATE TO CHLAMYDIA. MY SANITY IS OFFICIALLY GONE.

And you know what the really stupid part was? The part that made me want to bash my head through a window (and not even one that's open, hence the point – brutal injury and concussion)? That when I woke up, I laid there for a few minutes, keeping my eyes shut for as long as I could, trying to ignore the Ani DiFranco CD blaring from the living room while Mr. G burned the toast again, I was really hoping that it was all just a dream. JUST A DREAM. I've had some pretty freaky dreams, okay? I've had one where Elton John came up my fire escape in a chia pet outfit and serenaded me with WHO LET THE DOGS OUT. And another where I was held hostage by the owner of some evil bakery and wanted me to eat a hundred pies in twenty minutes. And another really scary one where I lost Rocky, and I couldn't find my mom, and Mr. G had gone missing too, all the while Ron from Harry Potter was asking me if I wanted to try out for the Quidditch team. I woke up crying to that one, and I'm pretty sure I would've woken up crying to the Elton John one if he'd done on any longer with WHO LET THE DOGS OUT. But I was really wishing, and hoping, and even praying for either of these to happen:

That everything that had happened within the past 3 days had not happened and I, in fact, had really just been Punk'd by that guy with long hair that goes out with Demi Moore.

That the earth would open its tectonic plates and swallow me whole.

Obviously it didn't work. Was I surprised? You mean, was I surprised that the world's cruelty towards me was still VERY MUCH intact? Was I surprised when Grandmere called my dad about my "atrocious and outrageous behavior not fit for a princess" and demanded that he "REBUKE" me? And that my dad then called me and tried to speak to me in that authoritative, fatherly, princely way but failed miserably and instead settled for a deep sigh and the phrase, "I'm sorry about what happened, Mia, but there are PLENTY OF OTHER FISH IN THE SEA"? Was I surprised when I yet again burst into tears and went, "BUT MICHAEL ISN'T A _FISH_, DAD, HE'S THE ONLY BOY WITH THE SINGLE MOST GREAT-SMELLING NECK IN THE WHOLE OF NEW YORK THAT _I LOVE_"? And that he then went, all confused, "I thought you loved HIM, Mia, not his neck" and that I then cried some more, because the people around me JUST DON'T GET IT???????

I wish people would stop telling me that. That there are plenty of fish in the sea, I mean – we aren't talking sushi here, we're talking REAL life. Although, I'm pretty sure, with all the crying I've been doing, I think I might as well have been aquatic. But still. I hate that. I REALLY, REALLY hate that, like that phrase is supposed to make it OKAY, the fact that Michael's in Japan and lusting after stupid geisha girls and I'm not allowed to go over there to fight for my love in a kickass Kill Bill fashion that will surely, SURELY, win him back?

Even Fat Louie finds me repulsive now that I'm always crying. Great. The two great loves of my life, and they both hate me.

**10:15 am, the loft.**

My mom just poked her head into my room to catch me lying on my floor wearing the sweater Michael had once left at my house that I always meant to give back (but never really minded when I always forgot to, because it smelled like him, that soapy manly clean smell), the one with Nietzsche's face on it. Then, she went, "For God's sake, Mia. Get off the floor. That's why you have a bed."

HOW CAN PEOPLE STILL BE SO INSENSITIVE????? IT HAS ONLY BEEN 3 DAYS SINCE THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE AND THEY ALREADY EXPECT ME TO BE OVER IT????? OBVIOUSLY THESE PEOPLE WOULD HAVE NEVER RECOGNIZED HEARTBREAK FROM TRUE LOVE EVEN IF IT POINTED A BEEBEE GUN IN THEIR FACE WITH A HUGE NAMETAG THAT SAID, "HEARTBREAK FROM TRUE LOVE."

When I didn't respond (due to the bubbling of inner anger and frustration – I was afraid I'd say something I might regret, and my mom can get PRETTY SCARY WHEN SHE WANTS TO), she said, "I knew I shouldn't have let you watch so many Lifetime movies. You are now an exact clone of those girls in those bad movies."

THAT'S WHEN I SNAPPED MY HEAD UP. WAY TO ADD INSULT TO INJURY, MOM. "Mom, it would seriously help if you would just leave me alone. Seriously."

"You're acting ridiculous, Mia. This is exactly the kind of behavior that I hate to see when it comes to strong, free women like yourself."

"Are you telling me that you've never felt like this?" I said to her. "That when things didn't work out so hot with Dad the very next day you went back to your old self, painting and happy and watching CNN? That you didn't feel like the whole, fat, horrible world was going to collapse on you? That you got up right away and felt like the world was good and fair and all _gumdrops and lollipops_?"

"Mia," she sighed, rolling her eyes, "of _course_ I've felt that way. What am I, a robot? I've been heartbroken, too, but there's a point where you've got to get back up and start living your life again." Then, she said, shattering ANY MINISCULE BEACON OF WARMTH she had previously let through, "Besides, Frank tells me you have some homework to do."

"_HOMEWORK_? HERE I AM, LYING IN A DEAD STUPOR FROM HEARTBREAK, AND ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS _HOMEWORK_????" I turned away from her, in a fetal position. "Go away, Mom. Really. I love you and all, but go away."

She sighed. "I love you, too, my overdramatic princess. Someday, and I hope someday very soon, you'll see that boys were never worth this much trouble."

Then, fortunately, she shut the door. After which I got up and locked it.

I can't tell you how much I really, really, REALLY hate people right now.

**10:20 am, the loft.**

So my mom knocked on my door to tell me that my dad was coming. Which – he rarely ever does, unless it was really important. It was kind of out of the way and all from his super model girlfriend's high end flat and all.

When I asked why (which was muffled as I had my face buried in my hypoallergenic pillow), she answered, "He's, uh, concerned. About you." Then, she afterwards, she added, "And he's bringing ice cream. Pistachio."

That's kind of nice of my dad. Bringing my favorite ice cream and putting his princely duties on hold for me and all. And I'm pretty sure that even though he was a hunk back in the day before he lost all his hair and he had all those women crying over him, he wasn't that thrilled about the idea of facing his crying daughter. From behind the door, I heard my mom muttering something about bidding him good luck and good thing he was finally acting responsible for his own daughter as she left.

**1:13 pm, back at the loft.**

Turns out, I got my love for pistachio ice cream from my dad. Funny how you can go for so long in your life without knowing what your dad's favorite ice cream flavor is – which, you know, is kind of expected in my case, since I was really only raised by a single mother that has her mood swings with dairy products and said dad was too busy keeping his crazy mother in check while trying to fulfill his royal princely duties to a small European principality.

Anyway, I came trudging down the stairs after mom came yelling for me to come down. Rocky was crying again and Mr. G was trying to grade exams. Dad was sitting at the counter, looking a little awkward – I mean, he didn't visit often. I couldn't blame him, and I think this was exactly why he didn't. He was wearing a Burberry collared shirt and some designer slacks – a major difference from his usual attire.

He cleared his throat. "Mia. Feeling better?"

I gave him a look, fetching out the two bowls and spoons. "Isn't that what the ice cream is for, Dad?"

"Oh. Uh, right," he said, and I sat down beside him, glumly scooping heavings of ice cream into my bowl. "Right. I came down here because I wanted to talk to you. About – well, what's happening. With you."

"If you're going to tell me about how there's plenty of other fish in the sea, Dad, I'm here to tell you: well, what if I don't WANT fish? What if I want – a _seahorse_? Or a dolphin? Or one of those really cute purple sea urchins? WHAT IF I DON'T WANT THE OTHER FISH IN THE SEA, WHAT IF I JUST WANT _MICHAEL_?"

He was sort of stunned at this. "I wasn't actually going to say that, Mia. After our conversation on the phone, I figured it wouldn't bode well for us for me to repeat that phrase." But he still had this confused look on his face, like I had grown a second head in the duration of my little outburst. WITH THE TERRIBLE RATE THINGS WERE GOING, I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED IF I HAD. Then I'll just be the two-headed ex-girlfriend that failed at EVERYTHING.

My face flushed a little. I shoved ice cream in my mouth. "Oh."

He got a few scoops of ice cream. "Look, Mia, I know it isn't easy. Drawing from my own experiences – I mean, it's not as vivid – I know how it feels to love someone and have things not work out the way you want them to."

I looked at him, putting my spoon down. Then I blurted, clueless in my distraught state of mind, "Do you mean Mom?"

He nodded his head. "Yes. Your mom. I really loved her, like I'm sure she loved me, but things didn't work out. Mia, I'm not going to lie to you: it'll feel bad for a while," he sighed. "But there's a point where you have to make a choice and let go and move on."

"But you don't get it," I said, waving my spoon around like a maniac, NOT UNDERSTANDING WHY PEOPLE WERE ALREADY TALKING ABOUT ME AND MICHAEL'S RELATIONSHIP LIKE IT WAS SOME DEAD CORPSE THEY FOUND BY THE FERRY, "it's not _over_ yet, Dad, okay? Not until I talk to him. Not until," I said firmly, shoveling in more ice cream, feeling my chest do this weird and painful shrinking, "I _talk_ to him, and explain how it was all some misunderstanding."

What I like so much about ice cream is that it makes my mouth all cold and numb. It helps a little when I feel like crying and when the words are still a little too sharp to say. There's a difference to writing things down and actually saying them out loud. Whenever I talk about him, or _it_, it feels like I'm chewing a mouthful of glass shards.

"Good," he said. Then he got that squinty look like he didn't understand, like that time I was seven and I wanted Fairytale Princess Barbie and my mom wouldn't get it for me for my birthday and they got into this whole argument about it. "Why didn't you do that before?"

"Because he's in Japan, Dad." WITH ALL THE PRETTY AND LOOSE GEISHA GIRLS, DAD.

He blinked. "Japan? When did – well, it doesn't matter," he said, shaking his head. "When is he coming back?"

I felt a painful pang in my chest. There it was again. The glass shards. "That's it. I don't know. He said he was going to stay there for a year, maybe more."

He was quiet. We both were. My stomach gurgled because I hadn't eaten anything since that hot dog (which I didn't really eat, since I had practically lost my appetite after that run-in with Judith at the vendor) and now I was stuffing myself with pistachio ice cream, and apparently it didn't like that so much.

Then he leaned in and said, all softly, "Maybe it just wasn't meant to be, Mia."

I wanted to cry right then and there, and I FELT it, too – the tears prickling my eyes. Hearing that – most especially from my DAD – HURT. Hurt like getting run over by a bus. Hurt like ripping off an unhealed scab. HURT LIKE EATING A SOCK.

But, I mean, I really didn't want to cry in front of my dad. Crying over the phone was one thing, but in person, in front of pistachio ice cream, with my mom singing Neko Case to Rocky in the next room (who was really just sticking around to keep an ear out to our conversation in the kitchen)?

But it was really, really, really hard. I started to sniffle, and then he tensed up, like he was getting ready to run. Males. That's what they do. Lilly says they've got this weird Darwinistic instinct when it comes to crying girls.

"I really, really refuse to believe that, Dad. Call me stupid and all, but I have to believe he'll let me explain."

WHY DOESN'T ANYONE UNDERSTAND THAT I CAN'T BELIEVE ANYTHING ELSE???? THAT IT WAS THE ONLY HOPE I HAD???

"You aren't stupid, Mia." Then he was quiet, in thought. "Let me tell you a little something about your grandmother."

GRANDMERE???? HERE WE WERE IN A GOOD FATHER-DAUGHTER BONDING MOMENT WITH OUR SHARED LOVE FOR PISTACHIO ICE CREAM AND HE WANTED TO TALK ABOUT GRANDMERE??????

World, you are sucking at entirely new levels.

"I know she's difficult, and I know you think she doesn't understand. You've got to understand, Mia. . . there are many, many layers to my mother."

"Are all of them equally as scary?" I sniffled. "Or do they get scarier as you get more of them off? I mean, she wears a lot of make-up, Dad."

He shook his head. "There are many things you don't know about her. She wasn't always. . . well, she wasn't always this way, you know. In fact, she was a lot like you. But anyway, the reason I brought her up. . . she can relate to you more than you think." There was a loud scoffing from the next room, and my dad cleared his throat, making a face. "My father wasn't the one she wanted to marry. She loved someone else – an artist, one that she'd met when she was younger, but he was poor. Her parents forced her to marry royal, so she did."

Meanwhile, I thought I'd gone frozen. I couldn't believe my ears. GRANDMERE, IN LOVE WITH AN _ARTIST_? GRANDMERE, _IN LOVE_?????? GRANDMERE, HEARTBROKEN????? I wasn't aware there was a heart to break in the first place! Whatever happened to that MECHANICAL PUMPING DEVICE instead of an ORGANIC MUSCLE? But while we sat there, I thought about it some more, and he was right. There was a lot I didn't know about Grandmere, though to be fair, there was also a lot she didn't know about me.

BUT IT STILL HAD TO BE REVEALED TO ME HOW THIS COULD POSSIBLY HELP WITH MY SITUATION WITH MICHAEL.

"Dad," I said, mustering up the bravery to tell him about my plan, "you have to help me."

His face softened, but not before it hardened up again with alarm and suspicion. "With what? Does your mother know about this?"

"I have to go to Japan, Dad. Please – please just LISTEN, okay? I have to go before he makes some mistake of sleeping with some Japanese geisha and he forgets all about me. I just have to EXPLAIN to him. That's all. Please, Dad. _Please_."

I was begging. And I was ready to use my tears as a weapon if needed.

"Absolutely not," he said. "Mia, you're only sixteen. There's no way in hell you'll be going across the world just for a _boy_. Let him work out his issues, and then—"

MIA, CUE THE TEARS. CUE THE TEARS!!!!!

He stiffened when he saw them, but if there was anything he learned from my mom, it was that he had to stand his ground. DAMN.

"I would take Lars, okay? He would come with me. _Please_, Dad. I don't know how I could possibly keep waking up like this, wondering. I mean, what if, back then, Mom had gone away under some delusion that you didn't love her anymore? Wouldn't you have gone after her on your fancy royal plane? Or would you have just sat there and let her go and _waited_ because everybody told you it wasn't worth it?"

He sighed. "Mia, that would be entirely different—"

"How would it be different? Only in the details, Dad. Nothing's ever different when you're in love." I looked at him, earnestly, the tears pooling in my eyes. "Please, Dad. _Please_. Just for a _day_."

The thing with my dad is that it's obvious when he gives in. He slumps his shoulders and gets this look on his face like he's already exhausted out of his mind from just the THOUGHT of trying to talk this out with my mom, and his voice gets all worn out, plus his mini-wrinkles start to show.

"Let me talk to your mother," was all he said.

AND OF COURSE I LEAPT OUT OF MY SEAT, CRYING OUT OF JOY, HUGGING HIM AND TELLING HIM HOW MUCH I LOVED HIM WHILE SECRETLY FEARING FOR BOTH OUR LIVES FROM MY MOM. BUT I WOULD BE GLAD TO HAVE HER POSTPONE MY MURDER UNTIL AFTER MY TRIP TO JAPAN, AND DEPENDING ON THE RESULTS OF SAID TRIP, I WOULD BE ALL TOO SAD/GLAD TO GO.

I LOVE MY DAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PRINCE PHILLIPE RENALDO IS THE COOLEST!!!!!!!! I really have got to rethink his Christmas presents. SERIOUSLY.

**1:15 pm, the loft.**

The yelling has started. It's horrible, and my heart is beating like crazy. I've left my door a crack open so I could hear them, but now I'm thinking it wasn't such a good idea. They could really go at it all night.

Oh, EWWWWW. NOT LIKE THAT. GROSS.

**1:30 pm, the loft.**

Still at it.

Even Mr. G has retreated to taking Rocky to the park to escape the loud yelling. I was tempted to come with, but I figured it would be irresponsible to leave when I had started all of this in the first place. Oh, and the neighbors have already called to complain.

God helps us all if the apocalypse is started from my kitchen.

**1:40 pm, the loft.**

WHAT'S THIS? THINGS ARE QUIET. _TOO_ QUIET. WHAT'S HAPPENING?

OH MY GOD, WHAT IF SHE KILLED HIM? LIKE IN THAT ONE LIFETIME MOVIE WITH THAT REDHEADED GIRL WITH THE BIG BOOBS WHO KILLS HER HUSBAND OVER A TEENSY LITTLE ARGUMENT AND THEN STEALS HER SISTER'S IDENTITY TO RUN AWAY FROM THE LAW AND THEN FALLS IN LOVE WITH HER NEIGHBOR, WHO IS ACTUALLY HER DEAD HUSBAND'S LONG LOST BROTHER?

OH MY GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE????

**2 pm, the loft.**

OH MY GOD. I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS.

WHEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

So I snuck down to check on them, frantic out of my mind, yelling, "Oh my god, oh my god, please don't kill him, Mom, it's all my fault!!!" when I saw them in the kitchen, sitting down, with my mom calmly drinking out of her Ethos water bottle and my dad on talking on his phone.

She looks up at me and says, rolling her eyes, "Don't be silly, Mia. I didn't kill your father. He's right there."

"But you – I mean, you two were—"

"We resolved it. Like adults," she said, just as my dad hung up his phone, who then turned around and said:

"You're leaving tonight, Mia. You should pack. I expect you know where he is?"

SO NOW I AM PACKING FOR JAPAN. THAT'S RIGHT, LIFE!!!!! I AM FINALLY GOING TO JAPAN TO TELL MY BOYFRIEND THAT I LOVE HIM AND THAT WHAT HE SAW WAS NOTHING. I'M GOING TO WIN HIM BACK.

AND IF NEEDED, I'M GOING TO KICK SOME MAJOR GEISHA ASS, PRINCESS-LIKE BEHAVIOR BE DAMNED.

**MIA:** IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII

**LIFE:** IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII

**2:03 pm, the loft.**

Except I totally don't have that yellow Adidas jumpsuit and no sword. I have a black leotard from that one Halloween when I dressed up as a cat. That would work, right?

**MIA:** IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII

**LIFE:** IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII

**2:06 pm, the loft.**

**MIA:** IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII

**LIFE:** IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII

OH MY GOD.

THIS IS BAD. THIS IS REALLY, REALLY BAD.

IN ALL OF THIS MESS WITH MICHAEL LOSING HIS PRECIOUS GIFT TO JUDITH AND ACCIDENTALLY KISSING JP AND LOSING LILLY AND THE CRYING I TOTALLY DIDN'T EVEN THINK TO ASK WHERE HE WOULD BE IN JAPAN.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE HE IS.

AUUUUUUUGGGHHHHHHHH!!!! Must think up plan, fast! Not Lilly, she's even blocked me from her landline, her AIM, and she's changed her email address. And I don't know any of Michael's friends, except. . .

**4 pm, in the car on the way to JFK airport.**

OKAY! It's always no wonder to me how I can write so steady in the car, because New York always has horrible traffic. That's why Mom is still totally against the idea of letting me get a car now that I'm sixteen, which is stupid, because she's willing to let me take lessons, BUT NO CAR. In what world does that work out? Anyway, I leant Lars one of the CDs Michael burnt me to listen to. So obviously something MIRACULOUS happened, since I'm on the way to JFK airport right now to fly in my dad's private royal plane in a dramatic and heroic excursion to win Michael back. Dad is coming along, too, and he's still on his phone trying to cancel his meetings and stuff. SUCH A SWEET MAN!! Anyway, so this is what happened:

It was nerve-wracking to be standing in front of Judith Gershner's apartment complex after I had blown up at her at the hot dog stand just yesterday in front of all those Asian tourists, but I had a purpose, and since I – sadly – didn't have time to go looking around for a totally bitchin' yellow jumpsuit, I figured I could look equally as scary if the STENCH OF DESPERATION WAS ON ME.

"Mia?" she said, shocked, when she opened the door to see me standing there in my Doc Martens, on her doorstep. (Side note: not such a great idea to wear leather Doc Martens and NO SOCKS in 100 degree weather.) "What are you doing here?"

"I have a favor to ask, Judith," I said, biting my lip, hoping she knew. SHE HAD TO, RIGHT? I mean, she cloned flies! HOW HARD WAS IT TO KNOW HER FORMER LAB PARTNER'S WHEREABOUTS IN A COUNTRY FAR, FAR AWAY?

"Sure," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, looking concerned. Oh, I failed to mention that in the New York heat wave, it seemed she'd taken to wearing minimal clothing in her apartment, such as a pink and white polka dot tank top from Victoria Secret that made it all the more obvious to me just how much bigger her breasts were than mine. AS IF SHE HADN'T ALREADY TAKEN MY BOYFRIEND'S PRECIOUS GIFT (WHICH WAS THEN SUBSEQUENTLY FLUNG IN MY FACE), BUT SHE ALSO TURNED OUT TO HAVE THE BODY OF A PORN STAR UNDERNEATH HER UNIFORM. GAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

"What is it?"

I told myself to keep my eyes on her face, and she might have tried to hide her boobs by crossing her arms like that, BUT ALL IT DID WAS PUSH THEM UP. Ye gods of great breasts, thou dost torture thou innocent peasants.

"Do you know where Michael's staying in Japan?"

My heart was pounding so hard I thought I was going to pass out. Behind my back, I had my fingers crossed and hoping really, really hard that she did. I didn't let myself think about what would happen if she didn't. I'd gotten the plane, IF THERE WAS A WILL, THERE WAS A WAY, RIGHT? Isn't that what people always said???

"Sure," she said. "I have it written down somewhere. Do you want me to give it to you?"

OH MY GOD! THANK YOU, GOD!!! THANK YOU!!!!!!

"Yes," I said, suddenly having this weird urge to hug Judith, and I HAVE NEVER HAD THE URGE TO HUG JUDITH, except only if it meant faking her out and then snapping her neck, like something Uma Thurman would've done in Kill Bill. "_Please_."

She disappeared for a second, before she returned with a scrap of paper. She handed it to me, and I looked at it before shoving it into my pocket, making sure I wouldn't lose it. My hands shook a little. It then occurred to me that I should say something. But what? Nice boobs, Judith, they seem to have swelled up nicely? If fly-cloning doesn't work out, they're looking for a leading lady for Glad He Ate Her? I know you're having a hard time finding a job, but I hear Hooters is Hiring?

Instead I settled for:

"Thanks, Judith. And. . . I'm sorry. You know, for yesterday. I was a little. . ." I swallowed hard, my palms sweaty, and the leather sticking to my ankles from the sweltering heat and all.

"You don't have to explain, Mia," she said, smiling and her flippy little hair swooshing around her face, like an angel. GREAT, A BODY OF YOUNG! PAM ANDERSON AND THE PERSONALITY OF MOTHER TERESA. IT'S NO WONDER MICHAEL LOST IT TO HER. "It's no problem. It's the least I can do," she said. "So you're going after him, then?"

That's when I nodded and felt the butterflies in my stomach. Really, really violent ones. It hadn't hit me yet how major this was going to be. I was going after him. TO JAPAN. FOR MICHAEL. And all I could wonder was: why couldn't they have done _that movie _on me _now_? Would've made the plot more interesting. Maybe I could write it and send it to Lifetime – I mean, I think it's getting pretty obvious they're running out of good ideas.

Judith wished me luck and also said, "He really loves you, you know," which is kind of nice of her, I mean. Afterwards I felt extremely bad about everything I wrote and said and thought about her (like that whole snapping-her-neck-while-I-pretended-to-hug-her thing), because it's pretty obvious she regretted the whole thing. Even though, you know, once taken, you can never get it back. She will ALWAYS be Michael's first you-know-what, which is a lot more than I can say for myself.

Oh! And I also sent an email to Tina right before I left – a real quick one, because Dad had already been waiting, and Lars was getting all excited to go to Japan so late notice and everything. Sometimes I think Lars is a lot more romantic than he lets on to be. Underneath all of that Matrix-y leather and glock, I think there's a big fluff ball. Way, way, waaaaaaay underneath.

OH MY GOD! WE'RE HERE!!!! My hands are literally shaking. It's getting a little hard to write, and Lars is taking a special route to take us to the private section of takeoffs and landings, where Dad's plane is waiting. DON'T HYPERVENTILATE, MIA. DON'T FREAK OUT. REMEMBER THAT YOU HAVE TO LOOK ALL WINDSWEPT AND GREAT AND FANTASTIC LIKE THOSE GIRLS IN THE BEAUTY COMMERCIALS ABOUT HAIR OR WHATEVER. I even brought my cherry lipstick, the one that kind of makes my lips sort of shiny, but still soft. Michael's favorite, since I can't even stand to wear lip gloss since it gets all sticky, which he hates, anyway.

Dad is getting out, and Lars is –

Hold on a minute. Dad has started to yell all of a sudden. I can't make out what he's yelling, but I'm trying to peek through the window. Okay, rolling it down, rolling it down. . . Dad is walking towards the plane, where there's some lady in white waiting for him. . . She looks really familiar, but it's too far to tell. . . REALLY, really familiar, I think she's got a glass in her right hand a cigarette in the other, and oh look, there's this small rat beside her—

OH MY GOD. GRANDMERE??????!!!!!!!!!!!

**4:30 pm, the car, leaving JFK airport**.

So it turns out my Dad had no idea Grandmere was going to show up, because he'd never told her (or ever intended to, until afterwards when it was all good and done with), but apparently somebody had told her that he'd canceled all of his activities for the day, after which she then called the pilot of his private jet to see if he'd requested an impromptu flight. Which he did. For me. To Japan.

Then they proceeded in getting into an argument in front of the plane, while I hesitated to get out of the car – because, let's face it. Grandmere and my dad in a big fight? It's almost as bad as when he and my mom get into an ugly one. I am too young to be a martyr, like Joan of Arc, and I STILL HAVE TO GET TO JAPAN TO EXPLAIN TO MICHAEL!!!

But that didn't keep Grandmere from yelling at me to get out of the car, which I did, eventually, because to be honest with you, everybody was getting a little scared. Even Lars had his right hand subtly behind his back, holding onto his new shiny gun in case anything happened. But when I got there, SOMETHING WEIRD HAPPENED. THEY _STOPPED_ ARGUING. WHICH WAS WEIRD. BECAUSE I SWEAR, IT WAS JUST A MINUTE AGO—

WHAT WAS _WITH_ TODAY? WAS IT LIKE SPONTANEOUS-QUIT-ARGUING DAY? It's starting to scare me a little.

"Amelia," Grandmere said, looking like she had just smelled something incredibly bad, with Rommel sniffing around her off-white Prada shoes, "your father tells me you're going to Japan to look for _that boy_."

"He isn't _that boy_, his name is _Michael_," I seethed, "and YES, I am going to Japan to look for him."

"And your mother approved of this?" she said, looking straight at me with those Ice Queen eyes of hers, not flinching one bit. I swear, there are times when I am straight up convinced she should have played the Witch in that new movie version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Don't get me wrong, Tilda Swinton was fab, but Grandmere wouldn't even have asked for pay for doing what she does everyday, which is scare the living wits out of everyone. I think once, when the Countess of some other small European country had been on bad terms with her, Grandmere had made the Count pee in his pants just by glaring at him from across the room.

I only nodded, not really knowing where this was going anymore. Grandmere and my mom always butted heads over everything, which is probably why Grandmere still calls her "That woman" to my dad. And, uncannily, so does my mom.

Then Grandmere huffed. She HUFFED. "Well then. Let's go. The plane is waiting."

So of course, I went, "WAIT – HUH???"

She rolled her eyes at me, then, and when I looked at my dad, he was just shrugging. "I told Princess Hikoko you would be coming, and she is expecting you."

"GRANDMERE," I said firmly, "I AM NOT GOING TO JAPAN TO HAVE TEA WITH ANOTHER PRINCESS, OKAY???! I AM GOING SO I CAN WIN BACK MY BOYFRIEND."

Then she hissed at me. Rommel whimpered and ran back to the plane. "I am not _stupid_, Amelia, I know exactly what you intend to do. I swear, the incompetence of American teenagers these days – this is exactly why, Phillipe, I implored you to give her a proper European tutor. But did you listen? 'No,' you said, 'give the girl her freedom.' Now do you see what her freedom has done? It's made her stupid and reckless, going after this boy who is too old for her and who makes robot legs."

"Robot arms," I clarified. "He makes _robot arms_."

Did I mention how much I hate Grandmere? That sometimes I find myself really, REALLY tempted to film her this way and send it to E! True Royal Story if only to humiliate her and humble her, just a teensy bit?

"I don't care what he makes, Amelia. He could make robot appendages and he still wouldn't be fit for a princess of your stature. Nevertheless, once I found out about your little foolish endeavor, I figured – why not mix a little business with pleasure? That way if the paparazzi found out – which they will – it won't be such a train wreck."

UM, HELLO? HAD I JUST STEPPED INTO THE TWILIGHT ZONE WHERE GRANDMERE TOTALLY MADE UP SOME SUPER COOL PRINCESS DUTY COVER FOR ME WHILE I WENT AND CHASED DOWN MY ONE TRUE LOVE? I couldn't believe my ears. Even my dad looked a little impressed, shaking his head. I HAVE TO SAY IT, DIARY. GRANDMERE IS A LOT MORE CONNIVING AND CLEVER THAN I EVER THOUGHT HER TO BE. I mean, I knew she was, because of everything with Sebastiano in the past and everything, but for her to USE HER POWERS FOR _GOOD_???

I feel the world has just been turned upside down and even the dead polar bears are coming back to life.

So of course I started to follow her into the plane, with my dad trailing behind us, muttering something under his breath about her drinking and smoking too much that it's made her crazy. But I could tell in his voice that he totally loves Grandmere. No matter how unhinged she is, I mean, she did after all go through the countless numbers of painful labor for him only to have a Cesarean instead and then a tummy-tuck right after.

I had just sat down when Lars suddenly handed his sidekick to me. "No, Lars," I told him, "I can tell Tina when we get back—"

That was when Lars told me that it was for me. As in, SOMEBODY WAS CALLING FOR ME. So of course I grabbed it from him, thinking it was my mom wishing me luck and also telling me that I was grounded as soon as I got back, but when I said "Hello" into the phone and heard who it was, my heart stopped.

"Mia? Is that you? You haven't left yet, have you?"

I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT. AND I WAS TOTALLY CONFUSED, BECAUSE JUDGING FROM HER TONE OF VOICE – FRENZIED AND HUSHED – I COULD TELL SHE WASN'T CALLING TO WISH ME LUCK AGAIN.

"JUDITH??" I said into the phone. "What are you—"

"Mia, you can't leave. You can't go to Japan."

That's when I felt it again. That whole pretending-to-hug-her-and-then-snapping-her-neck plan come back into action.

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" I almost screamed into the phone, because the plane engine was starting up already. Dad was telling me to get off the phone across the aisle, and Rommel had started barking again, because he hated flying almost as much as he hated Fat Louie, and Grandmere was shouting for more of her sidecar. "WHY _NOT_?"

"Because," said Judith over the phone, "Michael's not there. He's here, in New York. He never left, Mia."

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Needless to say, I had a hell of a hard time trying to explain to Grandmere and my dad why we had to tell the driver to stop the engine, and why I wasn't going to Japan anymore, and why the paparazzi was never going to see me there and make a train wreck of things, and why I had just made my dad cancel all of his princely appointments for nothing. I didn't ask anymore of Judith because I felt like I was going to cry all over again, and I wasn't sure exactly why. All I could think of was WHY? Why hadn't he gone to Japan? And WHY hadn't he told me? These past 3 days, I'd been living like he'd already been gone, too far away to try to really mend things, that I had to get this grand scheme into action just for a chance, AND HE HAD BEEN HERE THE ENTIRE TIME, A FEW BLOCKS AWAY, IN THE SAME AREA CODE.

I don't think I have to tell you that Grandmere wasn't pleased with this new bit of news, and neither was my dad, who immediately got on his phone and started rescheduling his appointments – that is, before he shut it again and said, sighing and smiling, "Actually, I don't think I've had a day just for myself in a few months."

To which Grandmere said: "For God's sake, Phillipe. You are the Prince of Genovia. You don't need an off day. What you need is to meet with the Baron Steffnik. He called me today and told me he is eager to talk to you."

I don't have to know who Baron Steffnik is to know that my dad despises him. My dad and I share the uncanny ability to convey our emotions through our faces, which is sometimes a gift, sometimes a curse. Like Spiderman's super spider abilities.

So now I'm back in the car, on the way to the Moscovitzes. I don't know exactly how I'll be received there, seeing as how Lilly hates my guts so much she's started sending chain emails to every one in our school about how fake I am (Shameeka told me about this, but graciously spared me the actual forward), and Michael obviously despises me equal amounts (if not more) since he couldn't bother one single second to tell me he had never left for Japan. I don't know whether the Drs. Moscovitz have heard what happened, but I'm pretty sure my absence for the last few days will had to have given them SOME clue.

I've even started biting my fingernails again, which Grandmere has noticed, and nearly spilled her sidecar all over Lars in her effort to discipline me again. But instead I just had this sulky look on my face.

"Amelia, fix your face. That is not the face of a princess. You've obviously gotten that difficult gene from your mother. You wanted to chase after that boy in Japan, so you almost did. Now that you've found out he's still here, you look like the Countess Kassandra at the Prince of Monaco's 40th birthday." Then she huffed again, picking up Rommel and walking back to her limo. "These American teenagers! Never satisfied with what you give them. . ."

We're getting near, and my hands are shaking again – but not from excitement, like when I'd been in the plane going to Japan. I'm scared and hurt and sad and angry. This has to be even worse than I thought if he'd stayed behind and didn't even tell me. Turns out, after I had dropped by Judith's apartment for Michael's address in Japan, she'd called the Moscovitzes to check if the address was right. And that's when she'd found out herself that Michael had never left.

All I can say is: I'm glad Judith caught me in time before I flew all the way to Japan only to discover that he wasn't even there. Grandmere would've had an aneurism and probably hired some Genovian hit on him for making fools out of us, or something like that.

Oh God. Lars has just stopped the car. We're here. I'm – well, petrified. What if he doesn't even want to see me? What if all I do is wait and wait for him and he doesn't even want to give me a chance to explain? WHAT IF HE DOESN'T LOVE ME ANYMORE???

Hmm. Wonder if we _could_ hire a Genovian hit on somebody. If not, there's always Lars, right?

So I headed up to the Moscovitzes apartment – luckily, some lady was just heading out with her kid (who was wearing a Sid Vicious t-shirt, by the way, and who also complimented me on my "righteous Docs"), so I was able to get in without having to get buzzed in. This was good. A surprise, right? That way if I was rejected, I would be rejected in a closed hallway, and not on the very public concrete front steps.

Shockingly, Michael answered the door. And my heart felt like it had just melted into goo by some invisible gamma rays radiating off of him, because everything inside me went weak. I'll tell you – this only happens with Michael. Maybe that's why those princesses in those fairy tales always fainted. Not because they were dimwitted ditzes with their corsets on too tight by a society that flogs strong-willed and competent women like my mom always said, but because sometimes, when you really, really love someone, your knees go all weak and your parts go from feeling perfectly solid to feeling like jelly. That's my theory, at least.

"Michael," I said, my throat suddenly all hoarse, like those people who smoke a pack a day on TV. My mouth felt fuzzy, like I'd just eaten cotton balls.

He only nodded – God, and you know what I really, REALLY HATED? That he skimmed his eyes over me all coolly, like he didn't care the least bit that I was there. I tried looking at his face, to try to see if he still loved me, but he always looked down or away.

Yeah. That? Really made me want to burst into tears again.

"Judith told me you'd be coming," he said. Then he opened the door, stepping back, so that I could come in. So I did. Apparently the Drs. Moscovitz were in Atlanta for some convention, and Lilly was out – well, doing God Knows What. Probably stenciling my face with horns and a funny little mustache all over the streets of New York City. She'd done that once, but it was with George Bush's face, and I took a picture of it to show my mom, who then put it up on our refrigerator.

"How come you aren't in Japan?" I asked, not exactly sure what to say first. Was it polite to small talk after the last time he'd seen me, when I'd been in the arms of another man, and caught in some accidental kiss with said man?

He stood awkwardly from me now. I noticed that. Before, he used to stand so close to me, which I liked, because then I could always smell his neck. And he would always wrap his arm around my waist, or hold my hand, which I liked even more. But now he stood a few steps away from me, like he was afraid I had SARs or something.

"There was some complication with my ticket," he said. "But it's all sorted out now, so I'll be going to Japan next weekend instead."

"Right," I said. And all I really wanted to do was to just throw my arms around him and kiss him and tell him how much I loved him, but for some reason, it was like I felt. . . frozen. And I always found myself looking at my feet in shame, like all of that bravery I'd told myself I had was gone, all gone, vanished, like that missing part of the ozone layer that's now causing the polar bears to die out. "So. . . why didn't you tell me?"

He sighed. Then he ran his hand through his long dark hair. The longer it got, the more he reminded me of that guy from that band Rooney. "I don't know, Mia. After I saw you with JP—"

"No, Michael, you don't understand," I pleaded, my voice getting all hoarse again, "that meant _nothing_. It was – an accident, okay? It wasn't _supposed_ to happen. We just happened to – I don't even know how it happened. All I know is, the both of us never meant it, and it means nothing to either of us. Okay?"

Inside, my heart was screaming, I DON'T LOVE HIM, I LOVE _YOU_!!!!!!!!! Incoherently at best, but with the force of a banshee.

His eyes narrowed at me, and that's when I saw it – that he was hurt. And that shattered my heart into another thousand pieces. "How do you _accidentally_ kiss someone, Mia?"

"I-I don't know, but I never meant to _kiss_ him, okay, Michael? I don't like him that way, at all! You've gotta believe me. I love _you_, Michael, not. . . I mean, JP was never. . ."

He laughed, but it wasn't the Ha-ha funny kind. It was the bitter, empty kind. The kind that really honestly scared me. "You _broke up_ with me."

"That was only because I was upset about Judith," I explained. "Michael, _please_."

PLEASE LOVE ME STILL, I kept thinking. PLEASE STILL LOVE ME, BECAUSE I STILL LOVE YOU. I WAS GOING TO GO TO JAPAN JUST FOR YOU. DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT A BIG DEAL THAT IS????? THAT I WAS EVEN WILLING TO KILL BILL IT OUT WITH AN UNSUSPECTING GEISHA LOVER YOU MIGHT'VE HAD OVER, JUST TO WIN YOU BACK???

He just looked at me. "I don't know, Mia."

I felt it before I heard it, the sound of my voice breaking. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean, I don't know. About this. About us."

If he had just stuck his hand into my chest, ripped my heart out, beat it to a bloody pulp, stuck it in the blender, and then tossed it back at me in shreds – it wouldn't have hurt as much as hearing that did. As I stood there, I felt lightheaded, like my head had just disconnected itself from me, and weightless. . . like I was about to faint. I couldn't see him clearly anymore because everything had started to get all blurry, and hot, and I suddenly felt like I was going to suffocate if I didn't get out of there. I didn't want to cry in front of him, and maybe that was the feminist blood running in me that I got from my mother, but I just couldn't breathe.

I stood there, and wanted the world to swallow me up just so I would never have to feel this way, ever again.

"Mia?" I heard him say. I couldn't see him anymore, just a big dark blur where his head used to be. "Mia? Are you okay?"

And that's when I ran. Without answering him, I went straight through his door and down the hallway and the flights of stairs, and I heard my wheezing breaths and the pounding of my heart against my ribs and of my shoes against the concrete, but after the fourth flight, I stopped, my legs wobbly underneath me, and just sat down and cried in the stairwell. Luckily, no one ever uses the stairwells in the Moscovitzes apartment complex anymore, so I was spared any unwanted public attention.

I don't think I've ever cried that hard, to the point where you almost feel like throwing up, and where your entire body feels like you've just gone down to 40 pounds, like that one Olsen twin that's always on those magazines by the checkout aisle. I must've been there for about twenty minutes until Lars finally found me, where he then insisted on carrying me, but I refused, because even though my heart may have been broken into a hundred tiny pieces, my legs were still pretty much – by definition – intact.

Pathetic that the only drip of integrity I could have from that visit came from walking out back to the car while hiding my red, puffy face.

On the ride back I didn't talk much at all, except to ask Lars if Michael was still alive, and Lars only smiled, like he thought I wasn't serious. Seriously, you get your braces off, you lop off nearly all your hair, you get a tiara, and then you get your heart broken – and STILL, NOBODY TAKES YOU SERIOUSLY. NOT EVEN YOUR OWN BODYGUARD.

**7 pm, back at the loft.**

The apartment is strangely quiet. Mom has been asking me how I feel, and Mr. G has even popped his head in a few times, and they even stuck Rocky's cute little squishy head in, but even cute babies can remedy the horrific rejection from your one true love. I've been told that Dad has called, and Lars stuck around for a while (possibly to tell them what happened, though I doubt he knew much at all) before he went to go to some bar with Tina's bodyguard, Wahim. Tina's called and left about five messages asking what happened (Lars texted Wahim that we never actually got to Japan, which Wahim then passed on to Tina), but no Michael.

This is nice, that everybody is concerned about me, and all. . . but all I want to do is curl up and bed and go to sleep until I'm 20 and have mastered the art of bad breakups and maybe even the healing powers of rebound.

It doesn't help, either, that I'm a sixteen-year-old girl at the peak of her emotional vulnerability.

**7:15pm, still at the loft.**

I can't believe how much this hurts.

I can't believe that some evil dictator out there hasn't figured out that heartbreak is a lot more painful than sawing off people's legs or breaking off their fingers one by one. (Although, don't take my word for it.)

**7:32 pm, the loft.**

I can't even get up to google "Genovian private assassins."

**7:40 pm, the loft.**

And to think I'd been about to fly thousands of miles just to hear him say to me, "I don't know."

Nobody deserves this. Not even a gruesomely flat-chested, big-footed, nearsighted, former vegetarian. You know what? It'd be nice if there was some law that said you couldn't ever break a princess's heart. Or buy SUVs and Hummers or go seal-clubbing.

**7:45 pm, the loft.**

SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS:

If Mia Thermopolis is found to be dead from her recent tragic heartbreak, please refer to: MIA THERMOPOLIS' WILL, on page 32 of this journal.

**9 pm, the loft.**

I fell asleep for a good hour or so, which is good. It doesn't hurt as much when you're asleep – it's the waking up part and the realizing that it's all still VERY real part that still hurts like hell.

Mom has just told me that Judith called.

Still no Michael.

**9:04 pm, the loft.**

Just tried climbing into my closet to see if it is a magical portal to another world where heartbreak does not exist. Bumped my head against the wall and now I may have a mild concussion.

Reminder:  
Send Life a card saying: THANKS A LOT, BUT YOU CAN SUCK IT.

**9:07 pm, the loft.**

Fat Louie came and snuggled up next to me, which then led me to the realization that I've stopped crying. Which means that I'm all cried out, meaning I've used up all my tears. Is that even possible? Usually I'd call Lilly and ask but I think she'd be too busy, seeing as how she's spreading the word about how much of a backstabbing slut I am, and everything.

**9:55 pm, the loft.**

I think I've gone numb.

And the Azure Ray CD I've had on repeat for the past three hours has started skipping.

**11 pm, the loft.**

I finally came out of my room to grab a glass of water and that carton of pistachio ice cream my dad brought over. Mr. G was watching a The Who tribute on VH1, and my mom was reading some art magazine on the dining table. I had a pending suspicion that she'd just been waiting for me to crawl out of my room.

"Hey Mia," my mom said, softly. Her voice always got like this when she was very aware of my adolescent troubles, unlike Grandmere, who never changed her tone of voice unless it was to Even Shriller. "I made some vegetarian casserole. Are you hungry?"

"Not really," I said. I have to say, when I heard the sound of my voice, I was a little shocked. I sounded as dead as I felt.

"I see you've brought out the ice cream."

"Uh huh."

"That's progress." Then she leaned over, putting her hand over mine. My mom has very long, smooth artist hands. The kind you see in watch catalogs or ring catalogs, except hers always have paint all over them. "Listen, honey. I'm sorry."

All I could do was stare down at the carton of ice cream, tempted to eat every bit of it until my entire body felt cold and it wouldn't hurt anymore. Instead, I slowly pried off the lid.

"I remember what it felt like for my first real break up. It was with Billy Parkman in my Social Studies class. Long brown hair, green eyes, great smile. We went out for a few months and then one day, he pulls me aside and tells me it isn't working anymore. He liked someone else." She sighed, looking at me. "I was heartbroken for weeks. I wouldn't eat. But then, one day, I met Ricky Steinberg."

"I don't have a Ricky Steinberg," I told her, with a mouthful of ice cream. All I had – HAD – was a Michael Moscovitz. And I'd been perfectly content with just that.

"You don't know that, Mia. My point was: for now, it may seem like nothing will ever be the same. But time will pass, and it'll fade. Slowly, but it'll fade. And then you'll meet someone else who'll make you just as happy, if not happier."

"Well, I know that. But it doesn't really help right now, does it? Telling me that some day, in the future, it won't hurt as much. . . doesn't really help how much it hurts right now."

That was when she hugged me. She smelled like the organic supermarket and oil paints, not to mention baby powder. "Oh, I know, honey. I love you, just know that. You're too good for any boy, Michael's just lucky he got a chance."

And that was when she offered to watch the Lifetime movie marathon on TV with me, even though she hates the network and thinks it degrades women. This is how I know my mother loves me so much, even though she still refuses to give me a car.

**Thursday, September 17, 5pm, the loft.**

School has been agonizing. I don't understand how my mother, the one who showed utmost compassion for me by sitting through the four Lifetime movies we watched last Sunday, could then IGNORE my pleads to stay at home and then FORCE me to go back to school.

Lilly is still in a majority of my classes, so it's hard to miss those withering glares of hers every time I walk in or pass by. Apparently her little chain letter method has gotten around to everyone, and now everybody knows. On Tuesday I went to the bathroom to try to eat my lunch, and that's when I saw it: MIA THERMOPOLIS, PRINCESS SKANK written across the door in a silver sharpie and block letters.

FIRST OF ALL, WHO TAKES SHARPIES WITH THEM WHEN THEY HAVE TO GO PEE??? Or maybe bringing magazines to the toilet isn't cool anymore when you've got to do, you know, your business, and instead writing hurtful things or obscene drawings of people on the bathroom wall is way more entertaining.

Tina and Shameeka and Ling Su are still my friends, though, which I'm really grateful for. They were never all that close to Lilly, so they still have lunch with me, and even offer to take me out for frozen yogurt. But I still don't have as many classes with them as I do with Lilly, so really, my only relief period is during lunch, which is when I can pretend to absorb myself with their love problems all the while completely failing to ignore my own.

Tina is especially highly sensitized to my situation, since she was one of the first to know about me and Michael, ever. She was nice enough to give me as much time as I needed before I could tell her the full story of what happened, which really only happened yesterday, Wednesday afterschool, when she and I went to grab some frozen yogurt at Yogurtland.

"I can't believe he said that to you, Mia!" Tina said, making the people in front of us in line glance over at us. "That doesn't seem like Michael at all! I bet he was just so hurt by what he saw that day in the hallway that he's just putting up this charade that he doesn't love you anymore, but in reality, he's still as madly in love with you as ever! Really, listen to me, Mia. In _Our Last_ _Hot Indian Summer_, this exact same thing happened. Believe me: Michael will come back to you."

"But what if he doesn't?" I asked.

"But he will, so you don't even have to ask that!" she said. That's what you can count on Tina for: Hope springs eternal when it comes to romance. And she isn't always right, but she's been right enough times that everybody usually ends up believing her. "He loves you, Mia. I've seen the way he looks at you. There's no way Michael would just let you go, just like that."

"He didn't even come after me, Tina," I frowned.

"You don't know that – maybe he did, you know? You took the stairs, I mean, who even _takes_ the stairs anymore?"

Tina made a valid point there. But it still hasn't changed the fact that in the past five days, there have been zero calls from Michael. I have made sure to tell my mom that if I ever got the crazy notion to call him, to rip the telephone away from me and put my head in the sink. I told Tina the same, too. That anytime I started to give her the idea that I was going to be the one to chase after him again this time, she would slap me as hard as she possibly could. Yep. I gave her permission to do that. And I know Tina would never do that, but it is for the sake of romance and integrity, and there was nothing Tina wouldn't do for that.

Every time I catch one of Lilly's bad looks I always wonder whether she knows that I know her brother really hasn't left for Japan left. I wonder if Michael told her that I'd stopped by.

I wonder if we'll ever be friends again.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

**REASONS WHY IF THE APOCALYPSE WERE TO HAPPEN TOMORROW IT WOULDN'T BE SO BAD:**

1. Michael Moscovitz, my one true love, apparently cannot stand the sight of me anymore and is willing to go all the way to Japan just to prove his point, perhaps to engage in scandalous activity with a geisha (or many).

2. I DON'T WANT TO SOUND DRAMATIC OR ANYTHING, BUT I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT HIM.

3. I would no longer have to be conscious of the fact that Lilly isn't my best friend anymore (or that I miss her as much as I do).

4. People would stop writing mean things about other people on bathroom doors with Sharpies, because there would no longer be bathroom doors. Or Sharpies.

5. Rocky wouldn't have to grow up to experience such heartache as this.

6. I wouldn't have to pay that forty dollar fine at the school library for losing my English book (which, in actuality, Lilly burned for one of her segments to prove her dissidence to the sexist English department, on account of how we only ever read so few books by women during the school year, and thus they are reinforcing the stereotype that women are only made to be good wives and housekeepers).

7. This stupid pimple on my nose would go away.

**Friday, September 18, 6 pm, the loft.**

Thank God it's Friday!!!! I have never felt so relieved to see this day come, even though the weekend always passes by too quickly and next thing I know it, it's Monday again. Whose bright idea was it to make the weekend two measly days, anyway? Why not three, or four? I'd seriously like to know. Assuming the person was still alive (they probably aren't), I'd sic Lars on 'em, and maybe even Wahim too, if Tina let me.

Anyway, I got assigned a ton of homework, but Tina invited me and the rest of the girls to go see that movie with James McAvoy and Christina Ricci, the one where she has a pig nose and he looks kind of scruffy, but still cute. Tina says it's her treat for me, so that I'll forget all about Michael and just have fun. It sounded like a good idea, and it really doesn't do much to be hanging around the apartment all day, waiting for the phone to ring. Did I say waiting for the phone to ring? I meant. . . sulking and waiting for the phone to ring. Yep.

I've just got to finish packing, and then Lars is going to drive me over to Tina's. I'm actually pretty excited. I remember wanting to actually watch that movie when it first came out, not to mention Tina always makes me feel a lot better about things when I feel like crap, especially about Michael. I like to think that Tina understands better than anybody else, not because she's read all of those paperback romance books, but because she'd known right from the beginning and had even helped me writing all of those secret love notes to Michael and everything.

Wait – Mom just came to tell me that JP stopped by and said he wanted to talk to me. I'm not so sure about this, but it's got to be harmless, right?

**6:15 pm, the loft.**

So it turns out JP had heard about Tina's little girls' night in and wanted to wish me luck. He also managed to tell me that he'd heard Michael was still in town, and when I asked how he knew, he only smiled and shrugged his shoulders, saying, "Oh, I have my sources."

HOW CREEPY IS IT WHEN PEOPLE DO THAT, BTW? It totally gives me the wiggins when people try to play it shady when they really have no reason to. Like child predators. Only child predators are naturally shady, I think, on account of all the underage child scouting.

Then he asked me if I'd tried talking to Michael yet, and that's when I hesitated in whether I should tell him the truth or not, and whether it would matter. Why did it matter, anyway? I know why it mattered to me, and why it mattered to Tina – but why did it matter to JP?

So I told him, trying to conceal my heart breaking by clearing my throat first, "Not really. I thought if he wanted to see me, he would call, but he hasn't, so."

Which is partially true about my current situation. For all I knew, Michael was repulsed just at the sight of me (which hurts to write down more than you know). But it still confused me why I felt like I had to lie to JP, seeing as how we were friends and everything. But it also confused me why he had to stop by just to ask me if I'd talked to Michael yet.

"Listen, what time are you heading over to Tina's?" he asked. "I could give you a ride there."

"Thanks for the offer, but Lars is already driving me. I still have to pack, so. . ."

"Pack?"

"Yeah, just in case it turns into some wild sleepover."

He laughed at that. I think he suddenly got this crazy notion that 'wild sleepover' meant 'taking our clothes off and having a pillow fight.' Lilly says that's engrained in every man's brain, along with the disability to put the toilet seat down whenever they pee. "Really?"

I shrugged. "It happens. Anyway, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"Um, yeah," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I'd been going to ask you whether you still wanted to come to dinner with me and my parents tonight."

OH. MY. GOD. I HAD TOTALLY FORGOTTEN THAT I'D MADE PLANS WITH JP AND HIS PARENTS FOR TONIGHT. SERIOUSLY, WHAT IS MY PROBLEM????????!!

AND WHY DIDN'T I WRITE IT DOWN??????

Oh wait. I did.

CRAP.

"God, I am so sorry," I said, wanting to smack myself on the forehead. NO WONDER MICHAEL HATES ME. HE'S SEEN RIGHT THROUGH ME. HE'S SEEN THAT DEEP, DEEP INSIDE, I AM A HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE, FORGETFUL PERSON. "I totally forgot, JP, I'm so sorry, with everything that happened—"

"Don't even worry about it, Mia," he said, smiling. I hated that he was always so NICE. It didn't exactly boost up my self-esteem by comparison. "It's really no problem. My parents won't mind. Rain check, maybe?"

"No, listen," I said, "I really could just throw on something fancy, and tell Tina – I mean, I'm sure she'd understand—"

He was shaking his head, laughing. "Please, don't do that. I know you're looking forward to Tina's thing, so really, Mia, it's no problem. Just promise me we'll reschedule, okay? My parents really do want to meet you."

So I did. Promise to reschedule, I mean. And I made sure to give him an extra firm hug just because I was such a forgetful idiot, but he really was right, I mean, I was really looking forward to watching a movie in my pajamas at Tina's house, more so than getting dressed up and going to some fancy five star restaurant on the upper eastside.

So he told me to have a good time, and I went back to my room to finish packing. Tina said that it would start around 6:30, I should give her a call to tell her that I might just be a tiny bit late. Not that I think she'd mind.

Hold on, I hear something – wait, is there somebody out on my fire escape? OH MY GOD, DID I LEAVE MY WINDOW OPEN AGAIN? WHAT IF IT'S FAT LOUIE AND HE'S BEEN OUT THERE ALL DAY – THIS IS EXACTLY WHY I KEEP ASKING MOM TO FIX OUR AIR CONDITIONING –

**Saturday, September 19, 4 pm, the car.**

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHH!!!!

I'm on the way to the airport now, and my hands are still shaking! But I made sure to leave extra early, because there's always extra bad traffic on Saturdays – it's when all the cab drivers make their money, after all, BUT OH MY GOD, I AM SO UNBELIEVABLY, INCOMPREHENSIBLY, TOTALLY HAPPY.

HERE'S WHY:

Turns out, it wasn't Fat Louie out on my fire escape. It wasn't Fat Louie at all. Fat Louie, in fact, had been napping underneath my table this entire time, which I didn't find out until later on, when I accidentally kicked him and he scratched me.

So when I went to go see what – or who – it was on my fire escape, I seriously thought my heart had stopped long enough for me to be considered dead. I jumped, too, and yelped, because it isn't every day you see somebody on your fire escape – which is almost inaccessible since the one below it practically collapsed about a year ago – let alone MICHAEL MOSCOVITZ.

Wait. I'm making sure I wrote that down right. YES. MICHAEL. MICHAEL, MY ONE TRUE LOVE, THE ONE WHO HAD MADE ME CRY UNTIL I WAS ALL CRIED OUT, AND THE ONE THAT I HAD BEEN SECRETLY HOPING WAS STILL MADLY IN LOVE WITH ME – like Tina foretold – ALL THIS TIME. There he was, wearing nothing but his DIY Skinner Box t-shirt that I'd made him for his birthday last year and jeans (which, looking back on it, SHOULD have been a clear sign that he still loved me), scrambling up my fire escape and making so much noise that even my across-the-way neighbor, Ronnie, had come out to watch.

I opened my window, sticking my head out. "Oh my god! Michael, what are you doing here?" AND SCARING ME TO DEATH???

"I needed to see you, Mia," he said, all huskily, and I swear my heart cartwheeled, because he said it in exactly the same way Tina's bare-chested, handsome heroes in her romance novels always seemed to say it. I almost forgot that he'd broken my heart just last weekend because my head got a little light, seeing him climbing up my fire escape like that, with his biceps all tensed up in his arms.

"We have a door. You could've just asked to be buzzed in – I wouldn't have left you out there, you know." HELLO! BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, REMEMBER???

"I know," he said, before I invited him into my room and he ducked through my window, all the while Ronnie yelled, from across the way, "Get it, girl!"

He was still breathing hard, and I sat on my bed, waiting for him to explain. My parts felt like jelly again, but my heart still hurt from what had happened the last time we'd seen each other. I wondered whether he was just here to add to it, to explain why we couldn't be together, and then to ask me if we could still be friends. Just _thinking_ that – hurt. Because I didn't want to be his friend. I was done playing the part of his little sister's geeky best friend. I wanted to be more than that. Always.

"I didn't go through the door because I saw him," he said, looking me in the eye. "JP. I was right behind him when he got buzzed in, and I couldn't. . . well, you know."

OH GOD. That's when I went into panic mode again. I swear, even my EYEBALLS started sweating. THIS SAME MISUNDERSTANDING COULDN'T BE HAPPENING AGAIN, TWICE. What was it with these two boys and their UNCANNY, UNFORTUNATE SENSE OF TIMING???

"He wasn't," I started to sputter, "he wasn't here for anything, Michael. I mean, he was – but it isn't _like that_. He just wanted to ask me whether I'd gone and talked to you yet, and I was supposed to have dinner with him and his parents—"

One of his eyebrows leapt up his forehead. "You were supposed to have dinner with him and his parents?"

OH MY GOD, MIA, SHUT UP!! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!! STOP SAYING STUPID THINGS!!!!

"No!" I blurted. "I mean, yes, but it isn't like that. We're just _friends_, Michael. It was just a. . . friend thing." I looked at him, my mouth feeling dry and like I had just tried to eat sand. "You believe me, don't you?"

"Of course I believe you, Mia," he said. He sighed, silent for a minute, just looking at me. "But I've seen the way he looks at you. I know what he's up to, Mia – God, I didn't see it then, but I see it now. I've _been_ where he's been. Just 'the friend' trying to cinch his way into something more. Don't you get it, Mia? He's trying to do exactly what I'd been trying to do, a few years ago."

"But he isn't you," I said, suddenly feeling very, very small and surprised that I hadn't seen that before. "And that's all that matters."

He walked towards me, then, sitting down beside me on my bed. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Mia. I should've called, but. . . what can I say? I got hurt, too. My pride got the best of me."

"You broke up with me."

"You broke up with me first."

Right. I actually had!

"Fair enough. I did," I sighed. "But it was only because I was mad that I wasn't your first, you know? And that it was Judith Gershner, the fly-cloner with the body of a goddess. I know it's silly, and stupid, but it means a lot to us girls. Or, at least, to me."

Lilly says the matters of virginity are like nail polish, or the different brands of make-up. Meaning: it only mattered to girls. Boys, on the other hand, never think twice about MAYBE SAVING THEIR PRECIOUS GIFT for the person they actually LOVE. That is why they are said to think with the lower parts of their anatomy, and not their brains. (Though I had always hoped Michael was different, I guess there's no hiding the fact that he IS still a boy and STILL HAS BOY PARTS.)

"Mia, believe me, if I had known that this was ever going to happen," he said, grabbing my hand, "I would have waited for you. That's gotta count for something, right?"

I couldn't believe the butterflies I still felt when he held my hand. Tina called it being Butterflied, and sometimes she called it the Tingles, but I honestly didn't have a name for it, only that I only got it when he was around. I'd always liked his hands. They were scrawny but they were well proportioned, and way bigger than mine, but that was even better – that way he could hold my hand completely. And the first time we held hands, there wasn't any of that fumbling and confusion of where the fingers go or anything, like what Tina had told me when her first boyfriend had tried holding her hand. It was like – we just FIT, you know?

But, I mean, you're SUPPOSED to fit with your one true love, so really, that's nothing new.

"Sure," I said, grinning this ridiculous grin. "I mean, yeah, it counts as something."

When I turned my head a little, I could see that he was smiling, too. You know what totally mystifies me? I seriously don't get why the whole world doesn't fall in love with him every time he smiles. I seriously, seriously don't. But, I mean, I don't have a BIG problem with that – more for me, after all.

"But – you were serious, right?" he said lowly. "About. . . well, what you said, that night?"

I blinked. "You mean about giving you my precious gift?"

He laughed. "Yeah. That. I mean, just because of what happened with Judith a million years ago, that doesn't mean that I won't still get to be your first, right?"

My heart fluttered. Literally. It FLUTTERED. And my face started to get really, really warm. "If you still want it," I said slowly, "it's yours."

The look on his face then was PRICELESS. I couldn't even describe it if I tried, and I don't know if you know this, but I'm pretty good at describing things. Let me just say that right after I said what I did, he wrapped one of his arms around my waist and just kissed me the way those heroines in Tina's novels are always kissed before SOMETHING BIG happens. Except that SOMETHING BIG _didn't_ happen – I mean, it could have almost, if I'd let it go on, but that was when my mom knocked on my door to tell me Lars was here.

"Right. That thing with Tina," he said, when we'd both come up for air.

"Yeah. Wait – how'd you know?"

"Let's just say I have my sources," he smirked.

Okay. CORRECTION: IT IS ONLY CUTE WHEN MICHAEL DOES IT. WITH ANYBODY ELSE, IT STILL GIVES ME THE WIGGINS. JUST NOT MICHAEL, WHO, REALLY, CAN MAKE ANYTHING CUTE.

"I don't have to go," I said, starting to ramble. "I mean, if I called Tina right now and told her what just happened, I'm pretty sure she would KILL me if I went. . ."

He kissed me. "Go. I want you to go. Just promise me you'll be at the airport tomorrow morning."

I tried to plaster a fake smile on my face, even though on the inside, I'd totally forgotten that he was still going away. It felt. . . not so good, this sudden plunge from that indescribable, happy high.

"Okay," I said, even though I couldn't hide my halfhearted tone.

"Oh. But wait," he said, sticking his hand in his back pocket. "I wanted to give you this."

That's when I saw it. A small silver ring with a tiny heart inscribed on the front. He held it out to me, looking nervous, but still smiling. "I've had this for a while – since a couple of months ago, actually, and I'd been going to give it to you that night when we. . . well, I couldn't, obviously. But my dad gave this to my mom before they went off to college as a sort of promise ring, to wait for each other."

MEANWHILE ALL I KEPT THINKING WAS: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!! A RING. LIKE WE WERE MARRIED. EXCEPT NOT.

BUT STILL!!

There really were no other coherent thoughts running through my mind. Really.

"So would you wait for me, Mia Thermopolis? I promise I'll do the same."

WHAT ELSE DO YOU SAY TO THAT, OTHER THAN A VERY SHRILL "YES!!!"? After which I then jumped him, wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing his face.

And you know what the best part was? Apart from the fact that we both promised to finally DO IT the day he got back from Japan? Apart from the fact that I've already made a plan to persuade Grandmere to set up another meeting with Princess Hikoko just so I could visit him? Apart from the part where the ring fit me perfectly because he'd secretly gotten my ring measurements from my jewelry box when he'd come over one day? Apart from the part when he told me that he had never felt anything like this for anyone before, and that he'd really considered not going to Japan but ended up deciding to go anyway, because he wanted to prove to Grandmere that he was _good enough _for me (which is really, really SILLY, seeing as how I felt like _I_ wasn't the one good enough)?

No, the best part was when he slipped it on and said, "Make sure JP sees this the next time you see him. Make sure he gets the idea that you're _my_ girl. Okay?"

When I told Tina about that, she freaked and spilled her coke everywhere. About everything, really, but especially about that. She'd screamed so loud that even Wahim had come running in, his gun cocked and everything, like he was going to shoot somebody, and that was when Tina had to explain what had just happened and why she screamed, and Wahim just gave me that curt nod before he tucked his gun away and walked out of the room. (I have to say, I'm just really glad Lars always leaves when I get home and doesn't hang around.)

OH! We're here! And really, as sad as I am that he's leaving, I can't help but feel. . . happy. Hopeful. Like the best I'd ever felt in a long, long time.

Remind me to never doubt Tina ever again.

**END.**


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